


Crossing the River

by logarhythm



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Aladdin (1992) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid Fusion, Awkward Romance, Fluff, Humor, M/M, but with a:tla characters, i guess?, mild culture shock, oh and zuko's a mermaid, sort of disney's aladdin plotline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 20:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4535838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/logarhythm/pseuds/logarhythm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Prince Zuko ever wanted was to be free of the suffocating confines of his underwater palace - to experience life as it was supposed to be experienced, full of love and loss and excitement. </p><p>Definitely NOT on his bucket list was getting stranded on some peasant jerk's fishing boat, and neither was falling in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Catch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yeah, here's a modern AU A:tLA/Aladdin fusion thing with a heavy dose of mermaids. Don't ask me where it came from, just be grateful it's here. You're welcome.
> 
> (Zuko makes the best Jasmine.)

It wasn't fair.

Prince Zuko gazed out of his bedroom window, relishing the  view he had over the vast and beautiful expanse of the kingdom laid out before him. He watched the servants tending to the gardens below him, the guards posted outside the palace gates as they flirted with passersby; he even spared time to stare at the distant snapshot of the ordinary townspeople’s lives as they busied themselves around the morning market near the palace, buying groceries and… doing whatever it was peasants did in their free time.

He envied them.

Perhaps not the threadbare clothing, the stifling atmosphere of the crowded plaza, or the way they desperately counted out each penny they could find in their worn pockets… but he couldn’t truthfully say that the rich and pampered royal lifestyle was something to dream about.

“Prince Zuko?”

He started at the sound of his uncle’s cheerful voice, cutting sharply through the delicate silence of his bedroom. “Yes, Uncle?”

“It is time for breakfast!”

“I’ll be right down,” he called, wondering idly what strange foreign delicacies his uncle had imported this week. It was an odd hobby, a quirk of his uncle’s, but Zuko supposed it was a welcome change from the usual bland meals they served in this part of the ocean.

He regretfully left the window seat, swimming languidly over to his wardrobe to find a shirt. He couldn’t very well wander the palace halls half-dressed. After pulling on something red and sleeveless, he quickly pulled his hair up into a topknot, deciding to forgo the flame crown and its difficult fastening mechanism. It was only breakfast with his uncle, after all. Iroh wouldn’t mind.

By the time Zuko reached the small dining room, reserved solely for the royal family and their personal guests, Iroh was already seated and enthusiastically heaping a serving of something strange and green onto his plate. Iroh glanced up at the sound of the door, and the twinkle in his eye spread to his mouth, widening it into a welcoming grin. “Good morning, nephew! Did you sleep well?”

Zuko shrugged as he took his seat opposite his uncle. “Reasonably. Did you?”

“Very well, thank you!” Iroh laughed heartily, and an explosion of bubbles left his mouth. “I had the most amusing dream. I was  down at the market…”

Zuko smiled slightly as his uncle launched into a detailed tale about the marketplace, the dancing fish and the tsungi horn. He eyed the strange seaweed-like substance in the serving bowl, and quickly decided he was too hungry to worry about what exactly he was eating. If Iroh liked it, it couldn’t be that bad. He scooped some onto his plate and took a modest mouthful.

He wished he hadn’t.

He wheezed out a chuckle when Iroh reached the dramatic climax of his humorous tale, barely resisting the urge to hurl. Instead, he forced down the food and coughed a little. “Uncle?” he ventured tentatively.

“Yes?” Iroh had managed to finish the _entire plate_ of the horrid seaweed, and was now helping himself to seconds.

Zuko cleared his throat. “What exactly is… this?” He gestured to his plate.

“Ah, yes,” Iroh grinned. “I had it imported from the far south. The nice man referred to it as _sea prunes_. Do you like it?”

“Um.”

Iroh guffawed. “Do not force yourself, nephew. I understand it’s an acquired taste.”

Zuko heaved a heavy sigh.

 

* * *

 

Iroh had kindly let Zuko raid the food cupboard after that. Zuko had taken the morsels upstairs, as Iroh had Sea Lord duties to attend to, and once again found himself at the window, wishing that for once he could roam the outside world – not just stroll through the palace gardens or be carried through the upper-class streets in a palanquin.

A thought suddenly occurred to him. A dangerous, troublesome thought…

Before he was even aware of it, Zuko was digging through his drawers and wardrobe in an attempt to find his poorest-looking article of clothing. Iroh had mentioned that he would be busy in official meetings until the evening, and with Azula away on vacation, there was no one around to catch him in the act. He’d always been rather good at sneaking around unnoticed (his thirteen-year-old self and the incident in the wine cellar could attest to that), and it wasn’t like he was planning to do anything dangerous. Just wander the streets a little. See his kingdom from the eyes of his own people.

He found a dull maroon shirt at the back of his wardrobe; still of very fine quality, but not very flashy. He stripped off his current tank and pulled on the shirt – high collar, short sleeves. A brief glance in the mirror persuaded him to take out the topknot so that silky black tresses fell over his eyes, and then, just to be safe, he encompassed himself in a brown robe. He tugged on the hood, pulling it down self-consciously.

Almost unrecognisable.

He shoved the window open as quietly as he could, double-checking for servants or guards before he pushed through it, gliding swiftly and silently over the palace walls and into a nearby alley.

He waited there for a few minutes, out of sight of the town, ears pricked for any alarmed shouts regarding his escape.  None came. Eventually he decided he was safe, and he slipped out into the streets.

If he’d thought the view was amazing from his bedroom window, then what he was seeing now was simply _staggering_.

Shops and stalls and houses, winding bedrock streets and people tucked in alleys and niches and limestone buildings curling gracefully above him. Peasants swimming left and right, up and down, all around; each busy in their own private world and each so shockingly different from anyone he’d ever seen before.

An irritable man pushed past him, and Zuko stumbled a little in shock – back in the palace, no one would have dared to even _touch_ him without his permission, let alone shove him out of the way like he was meaningless.

Surprisingly, he couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed. Out here, he was one of them, and they treated him as such.

The thought was both humbling, and so very _freeing_.

A grin threatened to split his face in half, and he swam off with gusto towards the centre of the market. He’d brought a little money with him – not too much, not enough to seem suspicious – with the intention of buying himself a souvenir of his trip outside. But now that he was here, surrounded on all sides by what seemed like an endless market selling anything anyone would ever need, he was quite lost as to where to start.

He ended up spending a good hour simply wandering through the market, eyeing up every object, every detail of his environment. Why had he never thought of doing this before?

A street sign caught his attention: “ _Come to Aunt Wu’s grand fortune-telling extravaganza_ ”,it read, alongside an arrow pointing upwards. Zuko followed it with his eyes, and then with his body as he swam up and up until he reached the very top of the towering mismatch of buildings. It wasn’t hard to spot, despite its small size – the walls were painted a deep purple, and a large sign hung next to the door, announcing it as _Aunt Wu’s Realm of the Future_.

Zuko hesitated; entering random buildings, especially small, secluded ones claiming to tell the future, was not a particularly smart move. But before he could let his doubt and self-preservation instincts reel him away, the door opened and out came a young couple, holding slips of paper and looking very pleased. He moved to let them pass, and decided that perhaps Aunt Wu wasn’t as dodgy as she initially sounded.

He slowly pushed open the door, letting his eyes adjust to the dark surroundings. Another bad sign. He very nearly turned and left, but then someone drew back a curtain in the far corner to reveal a middle-aged woman sitting at a table, lit by a small lantern hanging overhead.

When she spoke, her voice was soft and welcoming. “You wish to know your future?”

 _Why the hell not_ , Zuko thought, and let himself be drawn to the table. He nodded.

Aunt Wu smiled at him. “May I see your hands?”

Zuko blinked, but held them out to her, palms up, and tried not to flinch when she laid her hands on his.

She closed her eyes and drew in a long breath, and Zuko swallowed down his skepticism and tried his best to just go with it.

They remained that way for over a minute before Aunt Wu finally expelled the breath and gradually opened her eyes.

She regarded him knowingly, and for a moment Zuko was puzzled by the odd expression – but then realisation struck him. _She knows_.

 _Shit_.

“Do not fret,” she said quietly, finally releasing his hands.

He shoved them under the table, and chose to stay silent. What he didn’t say couldn’t hurt him. Hopefully.

She cracked a smile. “Your future is intriguing.”

This caught Zuko’s attention, and he momentarily forgot to be worried about the secret of his identity being in jeopardy. “What do you mean?”

“The spirits will grant your wish,” she explained (though it’s really no explanation at all), “though perhaps… not in the way you quite expect.”

Zuko stared. _What?_

Aunt Wu suddenly reached down, and from under the table brought out a box. There was a hole in the middle of the lid. “Take one,” She said, and slid the box across the table.

He paused for a moment in confusion, before reaching towards the box and pushing his hand through the hole. He could feel scraps of paper, and realised that this is what the young couple had been holding when they left the shop. Zuko grabbed one at random and pulled out his hand.

Aunt Wu stood to bow, and Zuko echoed her movements. She murmured, “May the spirits guide you.”

“Um, thanks,” Zuko mumbled as he turned to leave.

Shutting the door behind him, he let out a sigh of relief, and felt his muscles relax. The tension in the room had been almost unbearable. And what did Aunt Wu mean, exactly, about his wish being granted? What even _was_ his wish? He blew out an angry sigh, forming a foam of bubbles in front of him.

He suddenly remembered he was still holding the scrap of paper, and he unrolled it, letting his eyes skim the words.

 _Look up towards the future_.

Zuko blinked, his brow furrowing in frustrated confusion. _‘Look up towards the future’_? What sort of cryptic bullshit was this? What was it supposed to mean?

And so, since he’d always been a literal kind of guy, Zuko tilted back his head, and looked up.

There was a shadow on the surface.

_What the…?_

It was just a tiny shadow, a small dark speck set against the blue sunlit backdrop, but it was definitely there. He couldn’t resist. He swam towards it, his heart beating faster as he realised the speck was looming larger and larger above him – it took him a good ten minutes, and when Zuko was nearly at the surface he spared a glance back down.

He could barely see the city at all.

He pushed aside the shock and spark of fear in his gut – _I never realised we were so deep underwater_ – and focused back on the speck. Although, it was really far less of a speck now, easily as big as the grand dining hall back at the palace, and it shadowed him threateningly.

Zuko wondered if anyone had even _been_ to the surface before. There were rumours and legends told, of course, of the land people – people like them, who lived outside the oceans and walked on land with legs, and couldn’t breathe the water – and Iroh had entertained him with tales and picture books about them when his younger self couldn’t sleep for fear of the monster under his bed. But Zuko had always assumed they were just a myth, and Iroh had never told him otherwise.

 Something cut into his left side, and Zuko tried to pull away, but it seemed the more he struggled against the strange net, the more tangled he became. Panic rose in his chest and pushed into his lungs. He was still kicking, even as the wires pulled him up, up, up towards the surface, and then he broke the water, and the sudden _emptiness_ surrounding him was enough of a  shock to halt his struggles.

He was tangled helplessly, and felt sick to his stomach. There was a rough, hard pressure all along the left side of his body, and Zuko realised he was lying down. He opened his eyes, and the sunlight was startling – never had he seen it so bright – but he somehow managed to make out the wooden panels underneath him.

“What the _fuck?_ ”

Zuko lurched upright at the unfamiliar voice, swivelling wildly around in an attempt to locate it.

He froze when he finally laid eyes on him. There was a man about his age, dressed in the most bizarre clothes Zuko had ever seen, and he looked as if he was about to keel over from shock. Zuko’s eyes travelled lower, to his waist and below, and almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

This man had no tail.

This man had _legs_.

 

* * *

 

Sokka couldn’t believe it. It didn’t make sense. He tried to tell himself, kept repeating in his head like a mantra _This doesn’t make sense_ but no matter how many times he told himself that he just couldn’t deny what his own senses were screaming at him.

There was a mermaid on his boat.

He really thought he was going  to pass out – he really did – but he somehow managed to sit down and put his head between his knees before he fell overboard from shock.

He could feel the mermaid still staring at him from across the deck (although now that Sokka thought about it, it looked more like a mer _man_ than a mer _maid_ ) but he wasn’t moving, so for now Sokka could just close his eyes and pretend this wasn’t happening.

Breathe in. Exhale. _There are no mermen on this boat._

_Absolutely no mermen whatsoever._

“Who are you?”

Sokka’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest and he couldn’t help but look up – look up _at the merman_ – when he heard the voice. It was raspy and masculine but not particularly deep and from the look of his face Sokka would guess he couldn’t be much older than himself.

Although who knew, really. Maybe mermen aged at a different rate and the deceptively young man was really five hundred years old.

 _Okay_ , Sokka thought in an attempt to steady himself. _Stop thinking crazy things. This is obviously a party costume_. Though why anyone would be wearing a party costume at noon on a Tuesday in the middle of the Atlantic ocean, he couldn’t quite fathom.

Plus it looked pretty goddamn real.

“I think I should be the one asking _you_ that,” Sokka replied with more than a hint of desperation. “ _You’re_ the one who decided to invade my completely normal, completely ordinary boat with all your magic mermaid powers.”

The merman looked back at him with the most bewildered expression. “‘ _Magic mermaid powers’?_ ” he echoed incredulously. Sokka didn’t fail to notice that he kept glancing at his legs, and he realised that if this really was a merman on his boat (about equally as likely as finding a party trooper in the water three hundred miles from land, to be perfectly honest), then he was probably just as shocked and confused at suddenly seeing this strange man with two legs and no fishtail.

Sokka felt a pang of empathy, and noticed that the mysterious merman was still caught up in Sokka’s fishing net. He decided that whether this guy was really a merman or not, it was still rude to leave someone tangled in a net. He stood to go find some scissors, and the guy across the deck flinched visibly. There was another drop of sympathy wiggling its way into Sokka’s heart – damn his stupid sensitive feelings – and he held up his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just gonna get some scissors to cut you out of that net. It’s gotta be uncomfortable.”

The merman looked mildly placated by this, though his gold eyes ( _Gold eyes?_ Sokka thought wildly, _Who the fuck has gold eyes?_ ) were still narrowed in a glare of suspicion when Sokka turned to go inside.

He found some scissors in his desk drawer, and held them for a moment, just staring at them but not really seeing them at all. Maybe this was all a really strange hallucination. Maybe he’d  walk out on deck again and find the net full of huge tasty fish instead, none of which talked or glared or had gold eyes. He _had_ had quite a bit to drink last night, and though hallucinations weren’t usually a symptom of a hangover…

Sokka sighed, shook the thoughts out of his head, and headed back out on deck.

The merman was still there.

He kept his eyes glued to Sokka as he approached, his face set into an intimidating scowl – though its effects were lessened somewhat by the fact he was still stuck in a fishing net. Sokka worked slowly, making sure not to injure the guy even further as he pulled bits of the net away. He was sad to have to destroy a perfectly good net like this, but it wasn’t like he didn’t have any others, so he didn’t bother trying to keep it salvageable. Instead he focused on freeing the irritable merman.

It took a good twenty minutes to get him completely free, and only then did Sokka see the extent of his injuries. The rope had bruised nastily in some places, and cut right through his skin in others. Sokka’s sympathy meter skyrocketed, and he grudgingly gave in to his merciful nature.

Still crouched on the deck, he held out a hand. “I’m Sokka.”

The merman looked a little taken aback, but after a few excruciatingly tense moments he clasped the proffered hand firmly. “Zuko.”

Sokka inwardly sighed in relief. So the guy was willing to be amicable. At least that was a start. “You’re hurt. I have some medical supplies if you want – I mean, I’m no doctor or anything, but I did do a first aid course, so…”

Zuko paused, eyeing him up as if judging whether or not Sokka was to be trusted, then hesitantly nodded. “Thanks.”

“Do you wanna…?” Sokka gestured vaguely at the cabin. Zuko looked confused, so Sokka elaborated, “You can come inside, if you want. I have… food, and stuff.”

Zuko shrugged. “Sure.” He blinked, and a look of realisation dawned on his face. Sokka idly wondered if the guy was always this easy to read. “But I can’t… you know, _walk_ there.”

Sokka wasn’t quite sure what to  say to that. _Definitely not a partygoer, then._ “I could – I could carry you?” he offered, cursing how meek he sounded. But then again, offering to carry someone around was not usually high on his list of Things To Say To Strangers.

Zuko looked rather appalled at the idea – Sokka wasn’t sure whether to be comforted or insulted – but couldn’t seem to come up with anything better himself, so eventually sighed in resignation. “Fine,” he muttered grouchily, crossing his arms with a huff.

Sokka tried his best to make it as not-awkward as possible, but it didn’t help much. He hefted Zuko into his arms, one arm around Zuko’s shoulders and the other around his tail (which was scaly and very, very strange to touch), and tried to stand up.

He very nearly dropped Zuko right back on deck, and immediately regretted his decision to quit the gym last year. The guy was a lot heavier than he looked.

Somehow he got them both inside, and dumped Zuko unceremoniously onto the captain’s chair with a heavy sigh of relief. He stretched his arms out a little as he crossed the small room, working the feeling back into them.

“Do you want some coffee?” he offered absentmindedly as he searched for the first aid kit. He could really do with some himself, and it felt unfair not to offer it to his guest.

“Uh,” came Zuko’s uncertain reply to his right. “Um, okay?”

It was a bit of an odd reply to an offer of coffee, but then again this was a _fucking merman_ Sokka was talking about, so what about him _wasn’t_ odd?

Sokka found the first aid kit being used as a bookend for his collection of sci-fi novels, and tucked it under his arm. “I’ll go put on the kettle,” he explained quickly as he left for the kitchen below deck.

Kettle filled and boiling, he returned upstairs with the first aid kit and set about treating Zuko’s wounds. He was a surprisingly good patient, not complaining as Sokka roughly rubbed the dirt out of the cuts and only wincing slightly at the sting of the antiseptic cream. He rolled up Zuko’s short sleeve  to get a better look at a particularly bad cut on his right arm – deep, raw and friction-burnt – and decided it was worth bandaging.

As he wound the bandage around Zuko’s upper arm, Sokka found himself full of dozens of questions. Were there more mermaids or just him? Where did he live? What did he eat? What did mermaids do in their free time?

He almost began to ask, but the sound of the kettle squealing interrupted him. He tied off the bandage and headed downstairs. It was only after he was heaping sugar into his own coffee that he realised he hadn’t asked Zuko how he liked his. He shrugged to himself, carrying both mugs in one hand and grabbing the milk and sugar in the other.

“Sorry, I forgot to ask,” he said as he entered the cabin again, “how do you like your coffee? Milk? Sugar? You don’t seem like a sugar kind of guy to me, but what do I know?”

The joke seemed to go entirely over Zuko’s head. He pursed his lips at the sight of the milk carton and tin of sugar. “I don’t – I’ve never had coffee,” he admitted.

Sokka looked aghast. He couldn’t believe there was someone out there in the world who hadn’t tried coffee. _Everyone_ tried coffee. He himself practically _lived_ off the stuff. How –

Oh right. Merman.

He put the mugs and additions on the table. “Okay, well, you can try it black first and then see if you want it changing,” Sokka said, handing Zuko the mug.

Zuko gripped it in both hands, ignoring the handle – and Sokka stared, because that coffee was scalding hot and how could that not hurt?

He mimicked Zuko’s actions with his own mug, and sure enough he could barely stand it for longer than a few seconds before it began to burn. He almost asked Zuko how he could stand it, but decided it was probably just an unfair evolutionary advantage.

Then Zuko shivered, and Sokka became greatly confused. Was he cold? It was pretty warm outside. It wasn’t like it was snowing or anything. “Are you cold?” he asked, because now Zuko looked uncomfortable and it was making Sokka feel guilty.

Zuko cast him a sharp-eyed glance. “Not really.”

Well, ‘not really’ clearly meant ‘yes’, because almost the moment the words had left his mouth, he shivered again, and hunched into himself a little more, and Sokka saw the goosebumps breaking out on his arms as droplets of water rolled down them.

_Stubborn bastard._

He abruptly stood and left the room with the intention of finding a towel. It may not have been particularly cold (not to him, anyway) but ask any fisherman and they will tell you that wet skin gets cold fast, just the same as how sweat cools you down.

Once in the bathroom, it took him a moment to find a towel the right size – and it was slightly embarrassing that the only one big enough to cover Zuko was flower-print, but he supposed it would have to do.

He walked back into the cabin and Zuko wasted no time in informing him that “It’s nice.”

“What’s nice?” Sokka asked as he wandered over with the towel.

“The coffee – what are you doing?” Zuko’s voice held a tinge of alarm as Sokka held out the towel.

Sokka rolled his eyes. “You’re cold. This will help.” He draped it over Zuko’s shoulders.

As irritated and suspicious as Zuko looked, he didn’t try to get rid of the towel, so Sokka assumed his success. He pulled up a stool and sat himself down, cradling the coffee close and inhaling its wonderful smell. He could never get enough of it. He brought the mug to his lips and took a large gulp, despite the fact that it was still too hot to do anything more than sip it without tongues being burned.

His gaze wandered to Zuko, still seated (as if he had a choice) in the captain’s chair, hugging the towel around his shoulders and sipping at the coffee tentatively. He took a larger sip, and swallowed, and as he sighed in pleasure, bright gold eyes still focused on the beverage in his hands – he smiled.

Just a small one, a small sweet smile, nothing to write home about, except –

Sokka’s breath caught.

It was ridiculous, really – completely and utterly ridiculous. It was just Zuko. The unfriendly, monosyllabic uninvited guest who still looked at Sokka as if he were a threat.

And yet, for that split second smile, Sokka’s stomach had fallen into his boots, and his heart had hammered in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked? I've been into this pairing since FOREVER but it's the first time I've written it, so things might be a bit rough here and there. Feel free to leave a comment, and constructive criticism is welcomed.


	2. The Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay Aang! He's such a nice cheerful contrast to Sokka and Zuko's grumpiness.
> 
> Again, this chapter is pretty rough around the edges. Please bear with.

Zuko ogled his coffee for just a moment more before he happened to idly glance up – _right at Sokka_ , like he could feel him staring – and Sokka couldn’t help the inexplicable colour that heated his cheeks, no matter how much he tried to keep his cool. Zuko’s eyes widened a little at the sight, and he immediately averted his gaze to  rest on something – anything – that wasn’t gaping at him like a stunned fish and sporting a hideously embarrassing blush.

Sokka really could kick himself. What was he thinking? _I seriously need to get a girlfriend_ , he mumbled mentally, trying in vain to scrub away the blush with the heel of his palm while Zuko had the good grace to pretend he hadn’t noticed. Being stuck alone on a ship for months at a time often had the unwanted effect of driving a man crazy, in more ways than one.

He cleared his throat loudly, trying to erase the humiliation of the past minute (though he suspected his pride and image were both in tatters by this point anyway) and made a show of downing the rest of his burning coffee and standing to stretch. “Well,” he declared, in the most obnoxiously cheerful tone he could muster, “that coffee sure was nice.”

Thank the _spirits_ Zuko seemed just as eager to forget the whole thing as he did. “Yeah,” he agreed, finishing the rest of his own deep black liquid. Sokka couldn’t help thinking that there was something seriously wrong with Zuko’s taste buds if he could drink it black like that without even a wince.

Sokka collected their mugs with the intention of dumping them in the sink downstairs, but Zuko coughed meaningfully. Sokka turned back to face him.

“Um,” Zuko started awkwardly, then stopped. Sokka was beginning to get the feeling that Zuko really wasn’t all that great at this whole conversation thing.

“Yeah?” he prompted.

Zuko paused, his mouth slightly open as if he had the words but they’d all gotten stuck in his throat.

Sokka waited patiently (well, as patiently as his impatient nature allowed) through a very prolonged gap in conversation, until Zuko finally spoke again.

“What time is it?”

The question seemed a little weird considering the awkward silence which had preceded it, but Sokka shrugged it off. “Uh…” He checked his watch, struggling a little to push up the sleeve of his anorak while holding two coffee mugs. “It’s about half two.”

Zuko wasn’t making eye contact, though Sokka couldn’t place exactly why. “I should probably go. I sort of… didn’t tell anyone I left.”

Ah. Well, that wasn’t unfamiliar to Sokka in the slightest. He couldn’t count the number of  times he’d snuck out as a teenager, much to his Gran-Gran’s utmost annoyance.

It struck him, then – it was such a trivial similarity they shared; he nearly laughed at the thought. Maybe humans and mermaids really weren’t that different after all.

He shifted his weight onto his other leg. “Sure. I get you. Do you, I don’t know, want anything? Something for the road? You’ve gotta be pretty far from home.”

The corner of Zuko’s mouth quirked up. “No thanks. It’s pretty close.” He cleared his throat, and glanced out of the cabin window. “Would you mind, uh…?” He gestured vaguely in the direction of where his legs would be.

“Oh,” Sokka exclaimed, “of course.” He couldn’t believe he’d actually forgotten Zuko was a merman. He shook his head in the mildly outrageous turn of events that had led him to be moving forward to pull merman Zuko up into his arms. He tried not to think about how the feel of scales under his fingers was a hell of a lot less surprising the second time around – a comforting familiarity, even, as it really just reminded Sokka of his daily handlings of fish. This time, being as he was ready for Zuko’s weight, he managed (rather impressively, if he did say so himself) not to stumble as he carried his new friend outside.

Zuko tugged off the towel and slung it a little haphazardly over Sokka’s shoulder as he reached the edge of the deck. Sokka paused slightly, unsure of how to proceed now – place Zuko gently into the water? Drop him in without preamble? – but thankfully Zuko solved that problem himself by wriggling out of Sokka’s grasp and diving somewhat gracefully under the surface.

Well then. That was that.

Sokka couldn’t help staring at the water for a moment, at the place where he could still sort of see a flash of gold from Zuko’s tail – but his musings were cut short when Zuko emerged again.

“Thanks,” the merman murmured, accompanied by an only slightly awkward half-smile, before submerging again, leaving Sokka no chance to reply.

He couldn’t tell how long exactly he remained there, gazing unfocusedly on the spot Zuko had occupied. There was an odd feeling in his chest; a strange, empty dejection. Perhaps it was his crazy fisherman mind deceiving him… but maybe it wasn’t, and he really did sort of miss the guy. He was always on the move, and the ocean was a huge place. He doubted they’d ever meet again.

The thought was surprisingly unpleasant.

Later, carding tired hands through salt-sticky hair, he’d wonder if maybe he’d just been glad for the company.

 

* * *

 

“You are very generous, sir,” the merchant informed him, his smile deceptively charming, as he accepted the crate of fish for considerably less than it was actually worth. Always good to make a cheap first deal, Sokka had learned. It made your business partners more flexible in the future.

Sokka shrugged it off nonchalantly. “Just doing my job.”

The merchant’s smile widened as he took in Sokka’s relaxed posture. “You don’t seem in any particular hurry,” he observed slyly. Sokka felt his stomach coil. He wasn’t in the mood for being conned right now, thanks. “Would you fancy taking a look at my wares?” He gestured behind him, to the odd shop that seemed to be selling at least one of anything and everything.

Well, he _did_ enjoy window-shopping, and perhaps some good manly browsing would soothe the emptiness in his chest. It wasn’t as if he actually had to buy anything if he didn’t want to. “Why not?”

The merchant enthusiastically showed him through the shack of a store – it was charming, in its own dilapidated way – pointing at everything from carpets to jewellery. Nothing particularly caught Sokka’s eye, until… “What’s that?”

The merchant stopped his blather immediately, eyes locking onto the object of Sokka’s interest like a hawk onto its prey. “Oh, the cursed lamp?”

Sokka raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Cursed?” He wasn’t prepared for even more fantastical mythology to spontaneously enter his life. No thanks, bye-bye. Enough of that for now, what with mermaids on board drinking coffee under a flower-print towel, _thank you very much_. He could safely say he’d just survived the most surreal experience of his twenty-something years, and he was completely and utterly _done_ with anything that wasn’t safely and wholly grounded in reality.

He didn’t have the tolerance for _cursed lamps_ right now. He’d only been looking for a new oil lamp since he’d accidentally dropped the last one overboard.

“Oh yes,” the merchant practically purred, cradling the lamp in his grubby hands. “They say there is a curse upon this lamp. That there is a genie residing inside, who will grant whoever frees him three wishes.”

Sokka simply stared at the man, at an uncharacteristic loss for words. _You’ve got to be_ kidding _me. Is this for real? Is he actually trying to con me into a purchase with fairytale stories about_ genies _?_

Obviously, the merchant thought that this was not a stare of disbelief and incredulity, but one of piqued curiosity, because he ploughed on with renewed vigour. “However, as much as anyone has tried, no one has ever been able to figure out the trick for unlocking the genie from his captive state inside the lamp.” He eyed Sokka in a decidedly disturbing manner. “But you look like quite the thinker. Very intelligent. I’m sure someone as smart as yourself would be able to figure it out in a heartbeat.”

Sokka wasn’t puffing up his chest, to be strictly truthful, no. And that definitely wasn’t a satisfied smirk on his face. “Well,” he drawled smugly, “I suppose I am quite known for my sharp mind and quick wit.”

He was shelling out twenty dollars at the counter before he even knew it.

Sokka trudged back to his docked boat with gloomy irritation. He hadn’t meant to buy anything, and now he was down twenty dollars and up a mysterious cursed lamp. And so he’d decided to leave the port town earlier than planned – sailing always seemed to make him feel better.

It was a pleasant day, all cerulean skies and glimmering sunlight on the waves. It took him a few hours of steady sailing to reach the outskirts of his chosen fishing spot (the same one where he had managed to reel in a mermaid just yesterday, and he tried to banish that thought from his mind but his brain just wouldn’t let go of it) – the shoreline and that dreaded merchant were long out of sight – and Sokka cast the net, muttered a quiet apology to any mermaids he might be harming in his attempt to make a living, and relaxed back into the captain’s chair with a bag of Doritos and a dog-eared copy of _1984_.

He remained that way until late evening, when he decided he had probably left enough time for a decent catch. He went through all the motions until there were four new crates of fish in the hold (and two new rips in the net, which he spent no small amount of time grumbling about). Deciding that he deserved a break for his successful hard work, he busied himself in the kitchen with dinner – he’d never been particularly fond of cooking, but it was a necessary skill when working isolated as he was – and opened a new bottle of wine. He’d finished his first glass by the time the spaghetti was cooked, and he made sure this time not to burn the sauce.

Dinner was a reserved affair, a constant balance between trying to accurately stab the meatballs with one hand and hold a book open with the other. He was just about to dump the dishes in the sink, fully intending to wash them tomorrow – but he hesitated when he saw the remainders from yesterday still heaped there. Sokka gently placed the newly dirtied dishes onto the counter – distantly, as if his hands were acting of their own volition – and picked up the mug Zuko had sipped out of yesterday.

There was still a ring of coffee in the bottom of it.

Sokka caught himself just as he’d been about to let loose a wistful sigh. Instead, he pursed his lips into a thin line, turning away from the entire business of coffee and sentimentality – when something gold and shiny caught his eye from across the kitchen.

The lamp.

Sokka ambled over to it; he supposed it was a rather nice-looking lamp, if a bit inconveniently shaped. Perhaps he would use it after all. No sense in wasting twenty dollars…

He frowned faintly at a smudge on the side of the metal. It was dirty, looked a bit like oil. He grabbed a rag from beside the sink and spat on it, rubbing at the oil mark in the hopes it would go away. He’d always been a sucker for the aesthetic.

The lamp trembled in his hand, and Sokka’s eyes widened. _Why is the lamp shaking?_ He thought frantically. It jerked suddenly, and he dropped it with a ( _very manly_ , he would tell himself later) shriek.

There was a sudden raucous explosion of sound and smoke and sparks, the resounding _boom_ echoing and resonating deeply through the metal walls – and for a wild moment, Sokka thought _bomb_ – and he coughed grittily as the smoke hit the back of his throat, doubling over as his lungs burned.

“Um, are you okay?” a voice asked him – young and boyish, and full of tentative concern.

Sokka jerked his head up, and nearly fainted. Again.

_First mermaids, and now genies?_

_Oh,_ great.

“I’ll –” he coughed, “I’ll be fine, just give me a moment.” He found the nearest mug and filled it with water from the tap, chugging it desperately to cleanse his throat of smoke particles. It helped, slightly.

He pulled out the lone chair from under the dining table, straddling it and resting his forehead on the backrest. _Breathe_ , he repeated in his head, as calmly as was possible given the situation. _You’ve met a mermaid. You already knew about magic things existing. This is no different. Just a genie in a lamp. Hell, you even had a_ warning _this would happen. Relax. Breathe. In, out. In, out…_

Sokka heaved a final sigh and raised his head – and was greeted by the sight of a pale young boy – fifteen, at most – bald and wide-eyed and covered in the strangest tattoos Sokka had ever seen. Sky blue arrows slithered down his arms and back,  one resting on each hand and one in the dead center of his forehead, like spearheaded snakes.

“Uh,” Sokka started, too drained from the previous day’s events to really worry too much about how the walls of his ordinary, realistic world were crumbling mercilessly around him. “Who are you?”

The concerned frown immediately flipped into a bright grin. “I’m Aang!” he introduced himself cheerily, and waved to boot. “I’m a genie,” he added, completely unnecessarily. “I’m here to grant your three wishes. Thanks for freeing me, by the way. It was awful cramped in there.”

“You’re welcome,” Sokka said slowly, returning the wave with far less enthusiasm and a sort of stunned numbness. “I’m Sokka.”

“Nice to meet you, Sokka!” Aang’s grin was almost _frighteningly_ cheerful. He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “So, what’ve you got for me? Money? Power? Irresistible good looks? I can do all of them. Oh, but no killing people. And only three wishes – I’m not _infinitely_ powerful, y’know.” He punctuated the joke with a musical laugh.

“Uh –” Sokka struggled to find the words as his brain tried to catch up with Aang’s fast-flowing speech. It took a moment for the meaning to sink in. “Wait, you really can grant me wishes?”

“Uh-huh.” Aang nodded his assent. “Three. It’s my obligation, since you freed me from the lamp, and all. Anything you like. I am your humble servant,” he proclaimed, bowing deeply – though he didn’t sound particularly humble, in Sokka’s honest opinion.

Sokka blinked as his mind processed the information. “Oh.”

Aang smiled widely, hands on hips. “So? Any ideas?”

“Not really,” Sokka admitted, shrugging. He’d never been a particularly ambitious man – he was perfectly comfortable with his quiet, cozy, _ordinary_ life, and needed _absolutely no magical genie help whatsoever_ to make it better, thank you very much.

The corners of Aang’s mouth pulled down in slight disappointment. “Really? I can just transport you somewhere if you want a holiday. Or even… I don’t know, fix a broken fishing net, or guarantee you a good catch, or something. It doesn’t have to be anything big.” Clear grey eyes glinted impishly in the dim lighting. “Although bigger is more fun.”

Sokka put a finger to his chin, eyes narrowed in consideration. “Well…  I suppose a holiday wouldn’t go amiss…”

“Okay,” Aang agreed readily. “Where are we going? Now or later? How long are we staying?”

Sokka blinked at the sudden onslaught of questions. “Uh.” He hadn’t thought about that bit yet. Geez, couldn’t the kid give him a little time to think? “I don’t really know.”

“Anywhere in particular you’ve always wanted to go? Somewhere you wouldn’t normally be able to? Maybe distant family or friends you want to meet up with?” Aang prodded, probably trying to be helpful but really just giving Sokka a bit of a headache.

Sokka thought of what would happen if he suddenly turned up at his Gran-Gran’s house in Canada, totally unprepared, uninvited and pulling his magical genie friend along for the ride.

He snorted. He’d probably get the door slammed in his face.

Sokka rolled his eyes at the thought – and something gleamed in his peripherals. It was Zuko’s mug.

“Zuko,” he murmured, without really thinking about it. He’d like to meet him again, someday, if he could.

Aang perked up, suddenly interested. “Who’s Zuko?” he inquired eagerly, swooping into Sokka’s line of sight. “A friend?” His grin turned devilish. “A _girl_ friend?”

Sokka scrunched his face up. “Neither. Just – an acquaintance, I guess. I was just thinking it would be nice to see him again, that’s all.”

Aang looked pensive for a moment, then shrugged to himself, as if to say, _that’s good enough_. “I can arrange that.”

Sokka’s head snapped to him. It hadn’t occurred to him to use the wishes in such a way. But… “I don’t think you could, buddy. I wouldn’t be able to visit him even if you teleported me right into his living room.”

Aang cocked his head in confusion. “Why not?”

“He’s sort of…” Sokka debated for a moment whether it would be best to lie – and then reminded himself that he was talking to a _genie_ , and that strange creatures existing was probably run-of-the-mill stuff to this kid. “He’s a mermaid. He lives underwater. I can’t breathe underwater.”

Aang’s face lit up in realisation, and if he was surprised that a mere human fisherman had befriended a magical mermaid, he didn’t mention it. But the bright expression quickly deflated once he caught on to Sokka’s meaning. “Oh.” He crossed his arms, chewing a little on his lip. “Well,” he said, sounding a little unsure, “there must be some way around that. I can do _anything_.”

A thought struck Sokka. His instinctual reaction would be to balk at the idea, but if he thought about it a little more… It wasn’t something he’d really ever thought about before, to be honest, but it couldn’t hurt. “Why not turn me into a mermaid?”

There was a brief pause. Then Aang practically started _glowing_ with excitement. “Yes! That would be perfect! Oh man, I’ve never done that before, but it’s going to be so amazing! And you could visit all those lovely underwater cities I’ve heard about. Let’s do it!”

Sokka quickly held up his hands. “Whoa, easy there. If I did this, would I be able to turn human again?”

Aang nodded enthusiastically. “Of course. I mean, as long as you didn’t use up both your other wishes while you were still a mermaid. You could wish to be a mermaid, visit your friend, wish to be human again, and still have one more wish left!” He sounded incredibly pleased with himself.

Well. It wasn’t as if Sokka had any other use for his wishes.

He gestured for Aang to follow him upstairs, which he did with only mild, obedient confusion. From there, Sokka dropped the anchor and made sure it was secure. Aang watched with subdued interest, but otherwise stayed out of the way.

Once that business was dealt with, Sokka strode right up to the railings, and with a little awkward shifting managed to seat himself on them without falling off (because really, the last thing Sokka wanted was to get stranded without legs in the middle of the deck) and waited for Aang to catch up before he called out over the sea, with as much authority as he could muster, “I officially wish to become a mermaid.”

Aang grinned from his left. “Your wish is my command.”

He snapped his fingers.

A blinding light enveloped Sokka, and for one stomach-churning moment he was absolutely convinced he’d made a stupidly horrible mistake and was going to die – but then the light faded, leaving behind a dizzy light-headedness, and he was falling towards the water.

Natural survival instincts kicked in and drove him to the surface again, gasping for breath, even before he realised he wasn’t treading water with legs anymore.

Sokka took in a large gulp of air before he dared to glance downwards, and even then with one eye closed with trepidation. It opened in shock – an unreasonable amount of shock, really, considering what he’d just wished for – when he caught the sunlight reflecting off cobalt scales.

“Shit,” he breathed, mostly to himself, though Aang seemed to hear it.

Aang bared his teeth in a self-satisfied grin, puffing up his chest with pride. “I told you I could do anything.”

Sokka didn’t really know what to say. What did one say, exactly, when a genie turned them into a mermaid? In the end, he settled for, “Wow.”

Aang abruptly dove into the water beside him. He broke the surface again a moment later with a gleeful smile. “Let’s go explore!”

 _Oh. That’s right._ Sokka had nearly forgotten the original intention of his wish. “Sure, okay.” Aang dived under again, and Sokka took a brief moment to wonder how and why his life had suddenly come to be so ridiculous before joining him in the depths.

It took him over a minute to work up the courage to take a breath. He knew that, in theory, as a mermaid (merman?), he could breathe underwater – but he also knew that he’d lived the vast majority of his life as a human, and that humans taking breaths underwater was generally a very bad thing which led to lung damage and painful death.

When it got to the point where the options had been whittled down to _take a breath and maybe drown_ versus _don’t take a breath and definitely drown_ , Sokka was finally forced to choose the former. It turned out all his worries were unfounded – it didn’t hurt. In fact, it didn’t feel much different to taking breaths in air – slightly tougher, maybe, because of the density of the water, but nothing Sokka couldn’t handle.

Aang rolled into graceful loop-the-loops ahead of him, hooting and whooping and cackling with delight. The cheerful mood was infectious, and soon Sokka found himself testing the limits of his newfound half-fish swimming ability, ducking and diving and twisting and twirling through the water with the goofiest grin he could produce plastered to his face.

He couldn’t be sure exactly how long they spent swimming aimlessly towards the sea bed, but his muscles were beginning to ache by the time they saw it.

Aang spotted it first. He’d been quite a way ahead, and squinting through the seawater he said, “What’s that?”

Sokka caught up to him and they swam a little further forward – and Sokka’s jaw went slack.

A city.

_A huge underwater city._

“Awesome,” Aang whispered from somewhere close by. Sokka found himself agreeing.

The closer they got, the faster Sokka’s heart began to race. He could see them now – other mermaids. Thousands of them. All minding their mermaid business in the big underwater mermaid city.

The pair slipped into the bustling crowd with hardly a glance shot their way. No one seemed to notice Aang wasn’t a mermaid, and no one seemed to care that Sokka’s anorak stood out like a sore thumb among the hoards of mermaid fashion.

Sokka cared, though, and shed it like dead skin, stuffing it tightly into a particularly memorable nook in between two food shops. He’d come back for it later, provided no one stole it in the meantime. It wasn’t as if he’d be here for that long, anyway. For now, the blue tank would do – he blended in a hell of a lot easier now, and it wasn’t as if it was cold down here. In fact, the temperatures were unexpectedly balmy.

“So where does your friend live?”

Sokka froze. He realised in that moment with stomach-sinking certainty that he had absolutely no idea where Zuko lived. Neither did he have any way to acquire that knowledge – not in a city this big.

Aang seemed to understand his sudden silence. “Oh.” He hummed in thought. “We could ask around.”

Sokka snorted. “Sure. That’ll work. ‘ _Hey, have you seen a guy with dark hair and pale skin around here? Oh wait, that’s everyone.’_ ”

Aang shot him a dry, distinctly unimpressed look. “Well we’ve got to try _something_.”

Sokka turned, and was just about to respond with a very cutting, extremely witty improvisational comeback when he spotted something over Aang’s shoulder. He ignored Aang’s questioning expression as he swam past him.

It was a huge mural, covering two buildings, the title claiming to celebrate the joys of their country and its culture. Many different people and activities were featured, but only one caught Sokka’s eye. He swam a little closer, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, but – “That’s him,” he murmured, pointing to a portrait of a very fancy-looking young merman, posed majestically. The topknot and embroidered robes made him a little hard to identify, but Sokka would bet a year’s supply of seal jerky on that man being Zuko. His expression was firm and unsmiling – no surprise there – which contrasted sharply with the broad grin of an older, stouter man beside him.

“No way,” Aang whispered.

Sokka searched the mural for any hints as to where he would find his apparently famous friend ( _You would think he’d mention something like that_ , he inwardly groused) – and discovered, in small writing underneath the figures, the words _His Majesty Sea Lord Iroh_ , and beside that, _His Highness Crown Prince Zuko_.

 _His Highness Crown Prince Zuko_.

“No way,” Sokka echoed.


	3. The Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo sorry for the wait, i've been so ridiculously busy you wouldn't believe it even if I told you. Hence the seven-month lateness and overally mediocreness of this chapter, so apologies for that in advance. 
> 
> (Also i might have made up some words.)

Aang’s jaw dropped from beside him. “Your friend is a _prince?_ ” he exclaimed loudly, and Sokka quickly hushed him, trying to avoid as much attention as possible from curious passersby.

“I had no idea,” Sokka murmured slowly, his thoughts dulled with a numb shock. “He didn’t tell me. Just said his name was Zuko.”

Aang still looked completely bowled over, and joked (slightly hysterically), “Well, at least now we know where he lives.”

Yeah. Royalty lived in castles and palaces. And castles and palaces were generally quite easy to spot.

(Just thinking about it seemed absurd, really. He laughed a little, a small, involuntary sound bubbling out of his chest, and carded a hand through his hair in muted disbelief.)

He drew in a deep breath ( _of water_ ) and tried to find some sense of balance. Okay, so his new friend was not exactly the rude, roguish renegade he’d originally appeared to be. But so what if he was royalty? He was still Sokka’s friend - well, more like friendly acquaintance, really, if he was being technical about it, but anyway the point still stands. Zuko was his friendly acquaintance, and Sokka was determined to meet him again, because being stuck alone at sea for months on end with only the occasional phone call to his sister? _Achingly_ boring.

But how was Sokka going to get inside the palace?

_Oh well_ , he thought briskly, pushing the worry away, _I’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I’m sure I can think of something._

“I guess we should start looking for the biggest, fanciest building around,” Sokka suggested, flashing Aang a sharp, cunning grin. “Time to meet some royalty.”

It only took them five minutes to spot what could only be the royal palace. It was enormous, and looked oddly isolated, being surrounded on all sides by such vast spreads of empty land punctuated with the tallest, sturdiest outer walls Sokka had ever seen in his life.

He located the front gates – easily three stories tall, though underwater, where one wasn’t restricted by the petty laws of not flying, that posed no problem. The problem was the guards posted at twenty-meter intervals around the _entire perimeter_. If he tried to just swim over the walls, he’d certainly be spotted – and even if he made it past, the groundskeepers and gardeners and servants would see him and ring the alarm faster than he could say _seal jerky_.

He paused a moment, allowing the admiration sink in at how Zuko was able to sneak out of such a heavily guarded place undetected.

Then a thought struck him.

“Hey, Aang.” A predatory grin slid onto his face as he called the genie over, motioning with his hands. “I think I have an idea.”

 

* * *

 

_They seriously need to update their security system,_ Sokka decided as he relaxed back into the cushions on the palanquin. _Anyone could just walk in._

It had only taken a few minutes of shameless, outrageous bluffing to convince the guards that he was a prince from a faraway land, in disguise so as not to attract attention from the commoners, and that he was here for a secret meeting with the Sea Lord about trade agreements.

He’d been expecting snorts of disbelief and derision, condescending laughter and sneers of “go home, kid”. Not hurried bows and calls for a palanquin to “properly greet their important guest”.

Oh well. He shouldn’t be complaining about such a good stroke of luck.

Four palanquin-bearers quickly arrived with the palanquin, lead by an intimidating, burly man. As he entered the palanquin, he tried his best to make it look as if he’d been doing it his whole life; if he was unsuccessful, no one mentioned it.

It took an absurdly long time to reach the palace doors, as for some reason the men shouldering the palanquin seemed to think it appropriate that Sokka’s entrance to the palace was preceded by a thorough tour of the palace grounds. He must have looped the entire palace by the time the stocky man leading the way – his uniform more impressive than the guards’, trimmed with gold – approached the looming double doors and rapped pale knuckles harshly on the dark wood.

“Prince Sokka is here to see Sea Lord Iroh!” the man bellowed, loudly and abruptly enough for Sokka to flinch.

There was a brief lapse in activity, and though Sokka craned his neck in an attempt to see what was happening, his position (and those stupid drapery curtains) shielded him from any goings-on taking place at the doors. After about a minute, the grand doors swung open wide, and as the palanquin-bearers trudged forward the palanquin was engulfed by the immensely overbearing palace.

It was breathtaking.

Sokka had never seen anything like it at all, so used to tiny terraced houses and second-hand, mismatched furniture. The entire interior of the palace was heavy and stifling with dark reds and burgundies, every wall and object edged with gold which shone and glittered against the deep maroon background, its shimmer echoed in the waves and bubbles of the water. Ornate lamps lined the walls and elaborate tapestries picturing god-knows-what hung between them.

He’d never seen so much red in once place in his life.

The palanquin was lowered gently to the ground, and Sokka took that as his cue to disembark. The palanquin-bearers bowed deeply to him, and Sokka tried to quash his discomfort at the gesture, reminding himself firmly that he was supposed to be a prince and things like this happened all the time.

“His Majesty is in a meeting at the moment, but I will inform him of your presence and he will see you as soon as he is able,” the leading man told Sokka, and his bow was not as deep as the palanquin-bearers’. _Someone important, then,_ Sokka deduced, _if he restrains the respect he shows even to (supposed) royalty._

The man gestured for Sokka to follow him, and so he did – through seemingly dozens of high-ceilinged corridors, all of which looked exactly the same to Sokka’s untrained eyes. When they finally arrived at their destination, Sokka knew he was entirely lost.

A broad hand was raised, and pulled open a large door. He indicated inside the room. “You may wait in here, Your Highness.”

Sokka nodded, trying for pompously aloof while still remaining cordial. “Sure, okay. Thanks.”

The man bowed again, and quickly departed with movements fast enough to suggest that he had much more important things to be doing than tending to some foreign royal.

_Oh well,_ Sokka thought mildly, and tentatively entered the waiting room. It was of moderate size, but obviously designed to impress important visitors, with so much unnecessary extravaganza that it felt quite suffocating. Still, there was an incredibly comfy-looking chaise lounging against one wall, and Sokka gladly invited himself to sit down.

He didn't have to wait long. No more than five minutes passed before the door creaked on its hinges, opening almost timidly to reveal the man Sokka hadn’t been able to get out of his mind since that surreal day.

In the doorway, decked out in deep red with his hair pulled back, was Zuko.

Sokka nearly did a double-take. The memory of the damp, dishevelled and sea-salty grouch slumping in his chair wrapped in a flower-print blanket absolutely refused to mesh with this new image of Zuko: pristine, classy, aloof –

_Princely_.

Sokka snapped back to reality, and realized with nervous embarrassment that he’d been staring. Zuko also seemed to have noticed, as he was glaring solidly and determinedly at random objects again, much as he had done back on the ship, with the coffee –

_Okay,_ Sokka told himself firmly. _That’s enough of that train of thought._ He stood up abruptly, which caught Zuko’s attention, and tried for a slight bow. Respectful, but not overdoing it. He hoped. Princes bowed to each other... At least, he _thought_ they did. One prince to another, right?

Luckily, he seemed to have hit the mark, as Zuko bowed a little in turn, clearly more comfortable with the bowing than the staring, probably because it was an excuse not to make eye contact. “Sea Lord Iroh will see you now,” he said, and Sokka noticed with some curiosity that he sounded far more tired than he had on the boat. “My name is Prince Zuko. I’m the Sea Lord’s nephew.”

Zuko was looking at him – blankly, Sokka realised. Waiting for Sokka to introduce himself in return. Sokka searched his mild expression, but there was no recognition there. He felt a pinprick of annoyance, quickly followed by a large stab of... something else he didn’t like, and really didn’t feel like reading too much into. So Zuko hadn’t recognised him. Big deal. He looked different now, after all – he even had a _tail_ , for Christ’s sake. If he were in Zuko’s shoes, he certainly wouldn’t be expecting a human fisherman to turn up at his doorstep looking like a merprince. It probably just hadn’t occurred to him that such a thing could happen. Quite reasonable, really. Sokka had a plain face after all, no distinguishing features or marks. Easy to forget.

He forced a disarming grin and mimicked Zuko’s intonation as he introduced himself. “My name is Prince Sokka, of the... Southern Subatlantic.”

He hoped to _god_ that Zuko was either highly unobservant, utterly shit at geography, or both. If anyone bothered to spare even half a glance at a map they would see that nowhere on Earth is there a place even _remotely_ resembling the ‘Southern Subatlantic’. He wasn’t even sure where he’d got it from. He’d never been south of the equator.

Zuko raised an eyebrow in something like skeptical confusion. Or it might have been suspicion. Either way, Zuko disregarded it after a moment and smiled back. Not the sweet genuine smile from the boat, nor the awkward half-grin from afterward; this one was smooth and practiced, befitting of royalty. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“And you,” Sokka replied, just a little nonplussed. This Zuko seemed so... different. Pleasant. Polite.

Un-Zukoish.

“Would you follow me, please. The Sea Lord is this way.” Zuko gestured vaguely with a hand, and Sokka accepted the invitation. They glided side-by-side down even more winding corridors (even a map couldn’t save Sokka now) in a silence Sokka deemed only slightly uncomfortable.

He chanced a glance at Zuko’s profile, set against the glorious green backdrop of the palace gardens past the window. He seemed almost like a different person... But then again, Sokka had known him for all of two hours. How well could you get to know someone in two hours, really? Even if you could read them like an open book? There had to be so many sides to Zuko that Sokka hadn’t even touched upon during yesterday’s short-lived and admittedly superficial conversation.

Sokka felt embarrassment creep heavy into his chest, weighing down his breaths. He felt so stupid. Visiting Zuko? What had he been thinking? This was no place for him, this palace, surrounded by golden luxury; even this city, this ocean. It wasn’t his world. Their meeting on the boat was meant to be just that – a meeting. Nothing more. No meaningful connection can be formed in such a small amount of time. He should have known that. He _had_ known that... he’d just deliberately not thought about it until now. Until Zuko had looked at him, looked him straight in the eyes, and felt nothing. Hadn’t recognised him. At _all_. Apparently, their meeting had been far more memorable on Sokka’s end, and didn’t that just spark an aching twinge in his gut. Even ever-the-optimist Katara would roll her eyes and call him an idiot if she saw him now.

He almost turned and fled right there, neck burning crimson with shame, until he saw it. There, on Zuko’s jawline – just a little line, a small little pink scratch, still slightly inflamed from rope burn. It wasn’t anything special. He doubted Zuko had even noticed it.

But it was there. A mark of their meeting. Despite how he was acting, despite who he was – this was the same Zuko Sokka had met on the boat. The thought sent a rush of determination through his veins.

If Zuko didn’t recognise him... Well, then. Sokka would just have to make him remember.

 

* * *

 

Zuko rapped on the door and without waiting for a reply called, "Uncle, you have a guest."

Sounds of furniture being moved emanated through the walls before a deep, rusty voice replied, "Come in."

Sokka couldn't deny his anxiety. This might be Zuko's uncle he was dealing with, but he was still a _king_. He _owned_ _the_ _country._ Or, this section of the ocean, at least.

But before he could make a run for it, Zuko pushed open the door. The first thing Sokka noticed was the magnificent mahogany desk littered with papers. The second thing he noticed was the round, grey-haired man sitting behind it.

The Sea Lord stood from his desk and swam over, somehow managing to appear formidable and approachable at the same time. He grinned broadly at Sokka, offering him a slight bow as he said jovially, "Welcome, Prince Sokka of the Southern Subatlantic. We welcome you to our humble city."

Sokka returned the bow deeply and kept his smile formal. “I’m honoured to be here, Sea Lord Iroh. The city is really beautiful.”

Sea Lord Iroh’s grin widened, splitting his face in half. He guffawed. “Why yes, it is, isn’t it.” He suddenly blinked in realisation. “Oh dear, it would seem I haven’t any tea ready. How impolite of me; I hope you don’t mind waiting. Have a seat,” he offered, gesturing to one of several plush armchairs in front of the desk. “I’ll prepare some.”

The door clicked shut as Zuko left the room. Sokka spared only a cursory glance behind him before eyeing up the chair - the rich scarlet seat beckoned, and Sokka gladly helped himself, only managing to resist a sigh of pleasure with the utmost restraint. It felt like he’d been on his feet (tail?) for hours. Maybe it was the water pressure.

He let his eyes slide to the side of the room, where the Sea Lord was fussing over a teapot. _Well_ , Sokka mused, _he can’t be very stuck-up if he makes his own tea for his guests._

Sokka hadn’t had the opportunity to be around high society very often in his life – only when he attended Toph’s extravagant house parties, which were really more like mansion parties, actually, and usually involved very large amounts of alcohol – but the little he’d seen of it seemed to mostly comprise of egocentric idiots. But maybe that was just humanity – he’d now met a total of two mermaid royals, and both seemed just like normal people... barring the incomprehensible riches, of course.

“Here.” A cup of steaming tea was handed to him as the Sea Lord slid into the seat opposite, and Sokka accepted with “thank you”, marvelling at how the tiny bubbles of steam rose and popped in the water above the cup. Part of him - the part hungry with insatiable curiosity - wondered how it was even possible for the two liquids to remain separated and not blend together, but then his logical side told him firmly that this entire city was magic anyway and he should probably not think about it too much or he'd get a migraine. 

He took a tentative sip, and the herbal warmth rushing down his throat seemed to somehow relax all the muscles he hadn’t even realised he’d been tensing. It was the best damn cup of tea he'd ever had.

The Sea Lord watched him melt into the chair with an amused expression. He took his own sip and placed the cup gently onto the desk. “So, Prince Sokka, what brings you to this part of the ocean?”

Sokka froze. Apparently his blundering ‘trade agreements’ speech to the guards had gotten lost along the way to the top. For the first time in his life, he thanked his lucky stars for unreliable admin. “I’m acting as ambassador to King Hakoda,” he explained with as much confidence as he could muster. He wasn’t a _bad_ liar per se, but... “He wishes to form a beneficial alliance with this kingdom.” At the Sea Lord’s contemplative look, Sokka wondered briefly if he was using the correct terminology. This whole ocean seemed stuck a couple hundred years behind as far as technology went, but that didn’t necessarily mean they spoke like old kings too. Who knew if the Sea Lord even _wanted_  to form an alliance?

“Is that so?” the Sea Lord remarked, his expression and tone of voice both inscrutable as he sipped at his tea. He seemed to be eyeing Sokka up, and it left him feeling very, very unnerved.

Sokka nodded affirmative, trying to shake away his discomfort. “Our kingdom and yours are too distant, and King Hakoda believes that we would be better working together.” He held the piercing eye contact until the Sea Lord broke it, his eyes lifting to gaze thoughtfully over Sokka’s shoulder. He could feel his nerves singing, strung taut with nervous tension, and clasped his trembling hands tightly in his lap. The longer the silence drew out, the more Sokka began to panic. He was already halfway through forming an escape plan when the Sea Lord spoke.

“I think that King Hakoda is a wise man.”

Sokka exhaled quietly.

The Sea Lord’s face broke into another grin. “I would be happy to accept an ambassador to my city. Especially such a decent young man as yourself,” the Sea Lord added with a joking chuckle.

The cracking laughter was out of his lungs before Sokka could stop it. “It’ll be a pleasure to stay.”

 

* * *

 

And so it was arranged that Sokka would be spending his time as ambassador in the palace, tending to a variety of duties: interacting with the people, the chief advisor to the Sea Lord, and the city at large, as well as supposedly reporting his adventures to ‘King Hakoda’ back in the ‘Southern Subatlantic’. So, generally being very ambassador-like.

Zuko had once again been assigned babysitting duty, tasked with showing Sokka to his wing. (His _wing!_ ) He was still very reserved and aloof, but this time Sokka had his mind completely set on breaking Zuko out of his formal shell. He was going to see the flower-print coffee-drinker Zuko, and nothing anyone said or did was going to distract him from that task.

“You’re kidding me,” Sokka mumbled before he could stop himself as Zuko halted in front of a gold-panelled two-storey wing.

Zuko gave him an aside glance, but thankfully didn't mention the odd reaction. "You can stay here for the duration of your residence. Did you bring any belongings? I can have them sent to the lounge."

The memory of the anorak stuffed into an alleyway flashed through his mind, followed by a heavy pang of resigned regret. "Uh, no, I didn't."

Zuko observed his awkward shifting. "Would you like some spare clothes brought to your room?"

Sokka inwardly cringed in embarrassment.  He hadn't anticipated staying the night, and now he must have appeared horribly disorganised. "That would be appreciated, thanks."

Zuko's face was conspicuously neutral as he nodded. Probably trying to hold back a mocking laugh, or something. Sokka wouldn't blame him. He must've looked a mess.

Keys jangled as they were dropped into his hand, and Zuko bowed again, accompanied by another one of those plaster smiles. "Dinner is at dusk. We hope you can join us."

Sokka shot back an awkward grin-grimace. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

The corner of Zuko's mouth twitched, and Sokka's mood lifted as he realised it was the Zuko equivalent of a laugh.

Sokka was left alone to explore his wing. And it really was an entire wing. The entrance hall welcomed with warm reds and bright sunlight, which led onto the lounge Zuko had spoken of. On the left was a small study with a few bookshelves (Sokka made a mental note to check those out as soon as he was able, because who knew when he would next get the chance to study mermaid literature. Maybe there would even be some non-fiction). On the other side of the room were sliding screens which revealed a tiny flower garden, fenced off from the rest of the palace with high walls painstakingly engraved with all sorts of patterns.

Sokka nearly laughed when he opened a cupboard door and found a staircase. Upstairs was a smaller living area with a table and it was in this room Sokka found the emergency snack cupboard. There were three doors: one was a huge bathroom, one was a shockingly maroon bedroom (with a _four-poster king-size bed!_ ) and the last led onto his own private balcony.

All in all, not too shabby.

An enormous chest of clothes was delivered a few minutes later, and Sokka spent the rest of the afternoon digging through it and trying various garments on. He'd never seen clothes quite like these before, but he decided he liked them. The silk felt soft and slippery against his skin, and it shimmered in the fractured deep-sea sunlight.

A knock sounded downstairs, and Sokka hurriedly clambered downstairs, swearing violently when he nearly fell to his death down the steep staircase.

"Sea Lord Iroh requests your presence at dinner," said the guard when Sokka opened the door.

Sokka glanced down at himself. He was still wearing the borrowed silk, and he decided he was presentable enough for a royal dinner.

He shrugged in what he hoped was a friendly manner. "Lead the way."

It was a short walk to the main building, in which the surprisingly modest dining room was located. He'd expected high ceilings and a grand hundred-seater table, but it actually wasn't much bigger than his dining room at home.

Sea Lord Iroh looked up from his place at the head of the table at Sokka's entrance and gave a broad smile. "Prince Sokka! I'm glad you could make it."

Zuko glanced up as well, and Sokka offered a friendly grin. Zuko tried for what was probably also supposed be a grin, but which ended up looking pained.

Inexplicably, Sokka found it endearing.

Just a little embarrassed at his own thoughts, he sat himself down opposite Zuko, on the Sea Lord's other side. There was no one else at the table and it felt oddly empty and quite intimate. Sokka resisted the urge to clear his throat. It sort of felt like he was intruding on a family occasion, but Iroh seemed happy to see him and Zuko at least didn't look irritated at his presence, so Sokka could only assume he was welcome.

Still, after the guard bowed his respect and left the room, it was just the three of them. Now that Sokka thought about it, neither of Zuko's parents seemed to be around. At all. He hadn't even seen a photo, or heard them mentioned. It was just... Zuko and his uncle.

"So," the Sea Lord began cheerfully, helping himself to the luxurious assortment of culinary delights laid out across the table. Sokka took that as his cue to do the same. "What is it like on your kingdom, Sokka? If I may call you that," he added as an afterthought.

"Of course, _totally_ fine," Sokka assured, making sure the Sea Lord knew he really wasn't just being polite. He wasn't a prince anyway. Being reminded of the massive identity fraud he was currently committing every time someone said his name made him a little uncomfortable. "Well, it's definitely colder."

The Sea Lord chuckled. "We are lucky with the weather here."

Sokka quirked a smile at the thought. He wondered if it was even possible for it to rain underwater. Or snow. Or get windy... although he supposed, with the water currents...

Sea Lord Iroh was still looking at him expectantly, so Sokka snapped back to reality and kept speaking. "Er, well - it's very different here," Sokka started vaguely, deciding that it would probably be easier to keep up this façade if he told as few lies as possible. Smaller likelihood of forgetting his cover story and all. And anyway - if his childhood (spent avoiding getting caught by Gran-Gran) had taught him anything, it was that the most effective way to lie was to tell the truth. "For starters, our house isn't half as big as this one," he joked, adding to himself mentally  _you don't know the half of it_. "Our kingdom is, uh... pretty small. We don't really need a huge palace like this one or anything." His mouth kept moving even after he told it to stop - it had a bad habit of doing that, and Sokka decided he really needed to have a word with it about that - and in retrospect, his words sounded a little rude. He momentarily panicked, obviously not wanting to piss off the most powerful man in the country, but then amusement danced in the Sea Lord's sharp eyes.

"Well, you know..." the grey-haired man murmured, leaning a little closer to Sokka as if telling a secret, "I personally think the palace here is far too big," he confessed in a low tone, voice softened by a warm smirk. Zuko raised an eyebrow at him as he chewed his meal, and Sokka guessed this wasn't something that had ever come up before in friendly uncle-nephew conversation. The Sea Lord seemed to notice it in his peripherals, because he leant back again and turned a little to Zuko to address him as well. "Think about it, Zuko. Surely you must have noticed - it's just not practical. It takes me nearly half an hour to cross the grounds. I'm getting old! I don't have the energy anymore!"

Zuko considered this for a moment as he swallowed his mouthful. "You could take the palanquin," Zuko suggested semi-seriously. The Sea Lord blinked, pausing slightly before he burst out laughing and Sokka couldn't suppress a snicker at the idea of Sea Lord Iroh insisting on a palanquin to take him from his bedroom to the kitchen.

The Sea Lord made some sort of comment about how on Earth Zuko obtained that sort of mental image of him, and Sokka took the opportunity to truly dig into his meal. It was strange - he hadn't tasted anything even remotely like it before, but he couldn't say he was disappointed. The grain tasted oddly fishy, but maybe that was just Sokka going a bit crazy again - being so far away from his fish and yet simultaneously staying in a city full of them. (Seriously. There were fish swimming past the windows. It was weird.) The meat, whatever it was (he avoided thinking too hard about it), was very spicy, but lucky for him Sokka was a huge fan of hot food, so that was pretty awesome.

The rest of the meal passed in pleasant conversation, and Sokka quickly learned that the Sea Lord was not only very quick-witted but also had a brilliant sense of humour. He'd never met someone who laughed so much at his jokes. That placed him on the front page of Sokka's good books, and as he left an hour later to try (and ultimately fail) to find his wing without assistance from the guards, he decided with a spring in his step (glide?) that he'd made a friend that day.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Sokka was invited to sit in on a meeting.

Kneeling around a low table, spine rod-straight and listening to the political banter of many old, official people, Sokka realised he might be in too deep.

They were talking about trades, or produce, or something - Sokka had long since given up trying to keep pace with the current topic of discussion. He was a straightforward kind of guy. He just wasn't cut out for the manner of speaking of the politically inclined: bread-slice conversations with a thick filling of subtext.

He cast his gaze around the room, looking for any possible excuse to leave - documents that needed fetching, tea that needed brewing, alien invasions that needed thwarting - but it seemed in vain; even the Sea Lord was too involved to notice his desperate gaze pleading _please, please god let me out of here_.

But then, by complete accident, he locked eyes with Zuko, and saw - with mild surprise - his own pain reflected in the golden irises and furrowed brow. Zuko stared at him from the across the table, his dull wince of familiar agony eased by a slight shock as he seemed to realise he'd found a companion in his misery. His lips curved slightly, almost warily, dipping his toe cautiously into the water of acquaintanceship. It was too subtle to be a proper smile, but damn it if Sokka wasn't going to count it as such. He smiled back, wider, and Zuko visibly relaxed, his tense posture looser - and warmth buzzed through Sokka's veins. 

One of the nobles said something, and Sokka mimicked the words, mouthing them back at Zuko and rolling his eyes dramatically. Zuko's almost-smile grew and he pursed his lips to keep from snickering, pleasant surprise etching itself across his pale face. His amber eyes glittered, and suddenly the room seemed brighter.

Encouraged, Sokka slipped a glance at the man to his right, who wore an expression of such deep concentration he looked practically constipated. Sokka did his best to imitate the facial expression, and he must have been successful (or hilariously not so) judging from the snort covered hurriedly with a cough. Zuko hid his lopsided smirk with a hand, but Sokka could still see it in the way his eyes glowed and crinkled at the corners.

Ah. Here it was. Just a hint of it, but definitely there - the Zuko from the boat. The one who smiled into his coffee and dipped his head in awkward shyness. Sokka let the wave of achievement rush through him, leaving his whole body feeling weightless.

He was getting there.


	4. The Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See this lightning fast update?

It took Sokka over two weeks to memorise the route from his wing to the main building. Those two weeks had consisted of a lot of getting lost and being late to _everything_ , but everyone was surprisingly tolerant of his total lack of punctuality. Even Zuko only rolled his eyes and huffed when Sokka would burst into the dining room or meeting hall with a breathless _sorry, sorry, got lost_.

Speaking of Zuko - after that colossal success during the meeting on his second day, he'd dropped the plastic smiles. And even though it meant he was actually smiling at Sokka _less_ now than before, it still felt like a step closer to real friendship. The impatient frowns and raised eyebrows felt a lot more familiar, and the uneasy tension of stranger-ness seemed to have vanished, too. He even addressed Sokka directly during conversations over meals.

Still. He rarely ever saw Zuko outside of the dining room or meetings, which was a problem Sokka decided to make his top priority to solve. More time spent together meant faster friendship. The only issue with this otherwise flawless plan was that no matter how hard Sokka searched, he could never, ever find the elusive prince.

What the hell could he possibly be doing all that time?

 

* * *

 

"Ah, and I win again!" Iroh exclaimed cheerfully, merrily collecting his pieces. "Would you like another game?"

Sokka scowled good-naturedly at the old man sitting across the low table. When you got to know him, it turned out the Sea Lord was a pretty cool guy - he didn't seem to care about the little things, like Sokka's punctuality problem. (Not his fault. The palace was a goddamn _maze_.) But below Iroh's sunny surface was one of the sharpest minds Sokka had ever had the good fortune to meet. What he lacked in physical fitness, he clearly made up for in mental aptitude; he'd just beaten Sokka at a mermaid game called Pai Sho three times in a row. And Sokka was _great_ at strategy games. "No thanks. I don't think my ego can take any more."

The Sea Lord laughed. "You are a most formidable opponent, and quite the challenge to play against. You almost had me in the last game." Sokka was sure he was trying to coax him into another game, and he refused to be lured so shamelessly into another humiliating defeat.

Still, it _was_ tempting…

"I am certain you could beat me if we played again," Iroh said with a meaningful smile, and it was just the push Sokka needed.

He narrowed his eyes. "Sure, okay. Just one more game."

 

* * *

 

Needless to say, he lost.

"Dammit!" he wailed, to Iroh's amusement. "Right, no more Pai Sho," he insisted vehemently. "Ever."

"Oh come now, Sokka," the Sea Lord teased lightly. "You will improve with practice. In fact, you show great skill – raw though it is – and you play surprisingly well for someone who only learned the rules three hours ago."

Sokka paused for a moment as the words sank in. He scowled in suspicion. This was sounding far too placating and flattering to be a simple compliment. Though yes, he _was_ talented at strategic manoeuvring…

He gave his head a shake. There must be a reason why Iroh was sucking up to him so much this afternoon. In the admittedly short time Sokka had known him, he had usually been far more reserved with his praise.

"What - what are you after?" he asked slowly, his voice laced with hesitancy. Something in the Sea Lord's eyes was unnerving him.

Iroh paused, his expression catching with surprise, and then hummed a sigh of defeat. "It appears you are quite sharp. My nephew would not have caught on so quickly."

This immediately set off loud, piercing alarm bells in Sokka's brain.

"I would like you to do me a favour, Sokka. You are free to refuse, of course, but I feel this is also in your interest, as well as my nephew's."

"Zuko's?" Sokka blinked. This was about Zuko? What could _he_ do - and why was Iroh asking for a favour in place of Zuko himself?

The Sea Lord nodded as he moved to clear away the board. "Forgive me for intruding, but one of the servants informed me yesterday that he saw you practising in the gardens."

Now Sokka was less suspicious and more _confused_. And slightly embarrassed that someone had actually _seen_  him running through rough kata. He'd chosen that spot because he'd thought no one was around. "Um, yeah," he replied uncertainly, not sure where this was going. Actually, he wasn't sure if he liked any direction of conversation which required persuasion through flattery.

"He thought you were rather impressive, though of course I was not there to make a judgement myself. Are you skilled at hand-to-hand combat?" Iroh asked, his expression suggesting genuine interest.

Sokka shrugged awkwardly. "I guess so? I took a lot of karate classes when I was younger, so I guess I'm pretty good." What did his fighting ability have to do with Zuko?

Iroh considered him. "Have you trained with weapons?"

Uh, okay. This conversation was definitely taking an odd swerve now. "Er, no."

Iroh's expression was thoughtful as he packed away the playing pieces. "You are probably wondering why I'm asking. You see, Zuko has trained in various fighting styles, both with and without weapons. He is very dedicated, but, well... he is the only person in the palace to have done so. This kingdom has been peaceful for many years now, and most no longer bother to learn how to fight. I was quite the swordsman in my day, but that was rather a long time ago." Iroh chuckled. "I am not so young anymore. I'm afraid I can't keep up with my nephew during his training sessions. As such he has never had much opportunity to properly spar – to put his training to use against a real opponent."

Oh. So that's what this was about.

The Sea Lord smiled at Sokka. "I'm sure he would be pleased if you made time to spar with him."

Well, Sokka had never had any weaponry training – still, in hand-to-hand, he could hold his own reasonably well, and truthfully, he was interested in the sorts of weapons used by mermaids. Maybe sparring with Zuko would be a good idea. Plus, it gave him an excuse to approach him outside of meetings and mealtimes. "Sure," Sokka agreed with an easy shrug. "I'll ask him about it."

Iroh's smile morphed into a wide grin. "I'm sure he'd appreciate it."

 

* * *

 

An hour of restless thinking found Sokka staring intently at Zuko from behind a patch of dense foliage. How had he gotten himself into this awkward stalker-y moment? He hadn't _meant_ to. He'd approached the large training courtyard to familiarise himself with it before asking Zuko to spar.

Unfortunately, Zuko had beaten him to it. He was moving smoothly across the court, slicing the water currents to smithereens with a shiny, jewel-encrusted sword in a series of twisty, fancy turns.

Now Sokka was caught in a predicament. Zuko was using a sword. (Apparently swords were a universal thing.) If he challenged the prince to a match without having even held a sword before, he was sure to lose immediately and humiliate himself. Sokka really wasn't a fan of humiliating himself, especially since he had quite a knack for it, and he'd already had his ass whipped at Pai Sho earlier that day.

Maybe he could instead ask Zuko for guidance, which would be a subtle way of involving himself in Zuko's practice session without actually doing any sparring. But then he'd be revealing his utter lack of ability, which would have the same embarrassing effect as launching straight into a match.

Sokka nearly gave up on the idea altogether, but to be honest, even if Iroh hadn't asked him to spar with Zuko, a part of Sokka sort of wanted to. Being constantly surrounded by so many magical people and things and events was getting tiring. It would be nice to just spar with normal, non-magical weapons, like normal people did. Even if the person he'd be sparring with was a merman.

As Sokka observed the graceful sweeps of the blade, he felt a surge of envy. That just wasn't fair. Sokka could fight, but he wasn't this good. He had other skills, like academics and video games, so it was only natural that he was weaker in other areas, like fighting. But Zuko seemed unfairly good at most everything Sokka had seen him do. (Sokka ignored the logical part of his brain which told him pretty much the only things he'd seen Zuko do were swordfight and get stranded on boats.) People's skill sets were balanced, because no one was perfect. That was just the way of the world.

But _no_ , Zuko _had_ to go and mess up the way of the world, didn't he?

"Are you going to stand there and watch me all day?"

Sokka jumped. He'd been spotted. _Shit_. _Activate emergency improvisation mode._  "I was just seeing if you were as good as your uncle said you were." He blinked in surprise at his own words. That sounded oddly like a compliment.

Zuko didn't sheath the sword as he swam over to Sokka, still lingering at the edge of the courtyard. "Am I?" he asked neutrally, though the very sharp-looking sword he was still carrying made the question sound quite threatening.

Not that Sokka would let him know that. It was a matter of pride. "Maybe," he answered vaguely. He wasn't quite sure what else to say; he hadn't had the opportunity to plan out this conversation.

The prince seemed to be considering something. Sokka let him think – he was sure he'd just mess the whole thing up if he opened his big mouth again. Eventually, Zuko inquired, "Can you fight?"

"Uh… yeah," Sokka said defiantly. He _could_ fight. Jet and his broken nose could attest to that. "But not with a sword."

Oh, so his mouth had gone for the casual-admittance-of-weakness approach then. Okay, Sokka could work with that.

Zuko's eyebrows rose a little, and he looked thoughtful as he pushed some loose strands of hair back from his face. "… I could teach you, if you want."

 _… Well, that was easy._  "Okay," Sokka agreed easily. He hadn't even had to go through the awkwardness of asking him for lessons and sounding desperate. This was turning out well.

A rougher-looking sword was handed to him, and his right hand automatically found the rough cloth-bound grip. His fingers slid into small indentations made by someone else's hand. This sword had clearly been used an awful lot.

"I don't get a fancy thing like yours?" Sokka half-joked with a grin. He really _did_ want a sword that was probably worth more than everything he owned put together.

Zuko frowned incredulously as he pushed the stubborn strands out of his eyes again. "No _way_ ," he said, as if Sokka was ridiculous for even suggesting it. When the strands fell back over his forehead for a third time, he sighed gruffly and gave up trying to fix his hair, simply tugging out the hair tie. He handed Sokka the fancy sword to hold as he redid the messy bun. He nodded to the blade Sokka was ogling. "You don't get to use one like this until you can last a whole match without dropping it." He accepted the sword when Sokka offered it to him, and turned his back to Sokka and moved back out onto the court, gesturing over his shoulder for Sokka to follow him.

Sokka was a little affronted at the suggestion of his clumsiness. Really, how hard could it be to _hold on_ to the sword?

 

* * *

 

… Pretty difficult, as three hours of basic training taught him. Once he'd been shown enough for a brief match, all Zuko seemed to want to do was disarm him.

And he succeeded.

 _Over_ and _over_ _again_.

The rusty clang as the sword hit the wall for what must've been the tenth time made Sokka flinch. He grimaced, folding his arms over his chest childishly as Zuko retrieved the weapon.

"What?" Zuko snapped. "Did you expect to be perfect after the first day?"

Sokka huffed to himself. He hadn't, of course, but given his previous fighting experience he'd expected to be better than he currently was – which was, to put it bluntly,  _shit_.

He accepted the sword from Zuko with a gruff sigh. So much for keeping up appearances of skill.

"Again."

This time, Sokka lasted at least ten seconds before the sword went crashing and clattering along the pavestones. It was an improvement.

Sokka let out a loud roar of frustration which nearly drowned out Zuko’s words.

"You're good."

Sokka whipped around to face him in disbelief. Was this guy _serious?_  "Are you kidding me? Have you been paying _any_ attention to my absolute inability to defend myself?"

Zuko didn't seem to be listening to his rant, and he continued on as if he hadn't heard Sokka's very good point. "You've made a noticeable amount of improvement in a very short space of time. You're a quick learner." The prince's expression was twisted into a thoughtful frown. "Uncle is good friends with a master swordsman. He doesn't easily accept students, but he might teach you if he sees you fight like that after only three hours. You're already beginning to respond to my movements."

Sokka was about to reply with some self-deprecating snarl of anger, but he was interrupted before he could think of one.

"Ooh, who's the cutie, Zuko?"

A blurry pink thing entered Sokka's vision, and he drew back from it automatically. When he'd retreated to a suitable distance, his eyes focused on it, and he found out that it wasn't a _thing_ at all – it was a girl. A very pretty girl. Smiling at him. "Uh –"

"None of your business," Sokka heard Zuko growl from somewhere across the court, though he couldn't actually _see_ the prince due to the girl insisting on taking up his whole vision.

The girl pouted, grumbling quietly, "I see you're in your usual good mood."

Zuko ignored the taunt. "Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be on vacation with Azula?"

The pink girl sighed deeply, finally tearing her attention away from Sokka and turning to face Zuko across the court, giving Sokka a glimpse of the dark scowl on his face. "Yeah, but she and Mai were being so _couple-y_ , and it was so totally awkward, so I came back early to give them some alone time," she answered with a wide grin.

Sokka glanced in slightly alarmed confusion between the two of them, who very obviously knew each other - and who the hell were Azula and Mai?

He was allowed only a moment's respite, however, as the chipper girl turned back to him with a smile. She gave him a very overt once-over. "We haven't met before. I'm Ty Lee, and you're cute." She winked at him.

 _Winked_.

"Ignore her," Zuko sighed in his direction, sounding far more irritated than he had five minutes ago. “She's my sister's friend.”

Ty Lee scrunched her face up. "I'm not _your_  friend, Zuko? That's harsh. Aren't you going to introduce your gorgeous friend to me?"

Sokka blinked warily at her, sort of scared but also basking in the compliment at the same time. It was a strange combination. "I'm Sokka," he said, more than a little apprehensively, deciding he was perfectly capable of introducing himself. "Nice… to meet you?"

Ty Lee giggled. "You're so awkward. It's adorable."

"Stop flirting and go back to wherever you came from," Zuko growled, sheathing his sword and replacing his shirt, which had disappeared after the first hour of training.

The angry comment had the opposite effect, however, and Ty Lee just let out a sweet, musical laugh. "You're getting awfully protective, Zuko."

Apparently this had some hidden meaning, because the two mermaids shared a _look_.

Zuko seemed for a brief moment like he desperately wanted to say something, but after a fleeting glance at Sokka, he chose to angrily swim off in silence.

"That guy's always in such a bad mood," Ty Lee commented remorsefully after he'd left.

Sokka glanced cautiously at her. "Yeah," he agreed, not entirely sure where to go from here. "So, are you like, a princess, or...?"

Ty Lee looked at him with surprise before bursting out in laughter. Sokka felt a little chagrined. "No. I mean, my family's noble, but I'm not a princess or anything. Just friends with one."

"Zuko's... sister?" Sokka tried, slowly putting all the pieces together.

Ty Le nodded. "He didn't tell you? Azula, his younger sister. I guess you wouldn't have met her. She's been on vacation for the past month or so with Mai and me." Ty Lee blinked in realisation, probably at the confused look on Sokka's face. "Oh, Mai's her girlfriend. That's why, you know, I'm back here. Third wheeling isn't that great," Ty Lee joked with a bright giggle.

Oh. That made sense. He wondered briefly why Zuko hadn't mentioned this, and why Azula had managed to not come up during a single conversation this entire fortnight. He'd mentioned Katara at least ten times already.

"Oh!" Ty Lee suddenly exclaimed. "I promised Iroh I'd drop in for tea! Sorry Sokka, got to go." She beamed at him with a quick wave. "Nice meeting you!"

Sokka was too stunned to respond as she tumbleturned down the corridor.

 

* * *

 

"And I'm not even getting anywhere with it, no progress - I just - I have no idea what I'm doing." Sokka paused in his agitated circling of the room to make a very distressed hand gesture.

Aang hummed with sympathy from the couch. Looking far too comfortable, in Sokka's opinion. He was trying to vent his feelings here, and Aang might as well have been asleep for all the attention he was paying.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Yes," Aang replied calmly, finally turning to look at Sokka. "And you know what I'm hearing? I'm hearing you and Zuko spending time together, sharing interests and getting to know each other. Which was kind of the entire point of this trip, right? So I'd say things are going pretty well and you really shouldn't be so anxious. You'll get frown lines."

Sokka nearly exploded with frustration. "But -"

Aang sighed dramatically, throwing a hand over his face. "Come _on_ , Sokka. Friendships don't form overnight. Be patient."

"Easy for you to say," Sokka grouched. "You're immortal."

Aang rolled his eyes. "Just keep at it. You said it yourself, things are less awkward now than when we first got here, right? It's only been a couple of weeks. Friendship doesn't have a time limit."

Sokka flopped down beside the genie on the plump couch. "I know, I know," he grumbled. "I also kind of miss my boat. I haven't gone this long without it in years."

"Your boat's fine. I check every day, remember? I even did your dishes this morning."

Sokka looked up. "All of them?"

"Yup. You had a _huge_  pile. It took for _ever_."

Sokka couldn't help but laugh at the image of Aang in his kitchen, getting annoyed about Sokka's dishes. He made a mental note to get a dishwasher. "Thanks, buddy." Still, something tugged at Sokka's chest at the thought of Zuko's coffee mug clean and washed. But who cared about a mug, anyway? He had the real deal right here in the palace with him. He could easily get another Zuko mug.

Not that he actually would steal Zuko's dirty mugs, because that would be weird and creepy.

His train of thought was broken by a knock on the door. "Prince Sokka, sir?"

Sokka shot up. "Quick!" he whispered frantically. Aang wasn't supposed to be in the palace - he couldn't be seen. "The lamp, the lamp!"

Aang rummaged around the couch, flinging cushions left and right before he found it and dove back inside. Sokka took a deep breath and answered the door.

"The meeting on export transportation is scheduled to begin shortly," the servant said with a bow.

"Oh right," Sokka said. "Thanks, I'll be right there."

 

* * *

 

Over the next week, Sokka found himself taking Aang's advice to heart. He _was_  making progress, and he was determined to focus on the positives.

One of which was the sparring. They'd fought barehanded yesterday, and Sokka had managed to hold his own far better. He'd even beaten Zuko once. (Zuko had beaten him at least five times, and given him a nasty bruise on his shoulder - which he _would not_ stop apologising for, despite the fact they both knew it was an accident - but that was inconsequential.)

Today was swords. Besides the fact that every hour spent training was an hour spent with Zuko, he was actually enjoying the learning for the sake of learning, and the blade was beginning to feel less foreign and more familiar in his grip now.

He was still pretty shit, though.

"Ah, Sokka! I've been looking for you."

Sokka grinned and turned at the sound of the Sea Lord's voice. He was becoming quite fond of the guy. "Really? Why?"

Iroh raised an eyebrow at Sokka's pre-spar shirtless state, but made no comment. Instead, he smiled widely, and the edges of his deep-set eyes crinkled. "I want to thank you."

It was Sokka's turn to raise an eyebrow. "For what?" he asked, bemused.

"For taking my suggestion to heart," Iroh answered with a slightly lower voice, as if someone might hear him. "Prince Zuko has been telling me all about your sparring sessions and your amazing talent."

Sokka blinked. He _had?_ No way. "I… really doubt that," he replied with an incredulous half-smile. Still, he couldn't quite suppress the pleasant warmth that bloomed in his chest at the thought.

Iroh chuckled heartily. "Perhaps those were not his exact words. But the meaning is the same. I know he appreciates the effort you're putting in, even if he won't admit it, so I would like to thank you on his behalf." Iroh sighed with mild exasperation. "I hope he matures quickly enough to tell you his gratitude himself. I cannot keep treating him like a child for much longer."

 _That_ brought a smile to Sokka's face. No prince was perfect, no matter his swordsmanship. "It's okay," he said through a bright grin. "It's fun. And I've always wanted to be able to fight with a sword. Though actually, I should probably hurry up so I don't keep him waiting."

"You're about to spar?" Iroh inquired.

"Yeah. And you know how he gets when you keep him waiting," Sokka joked, and Iroh guffawed.

"Yes. Quite. Well, have fun. I will see you at dinner," Iroh called over his shoulder as he swam past towards his wing.

Sokka waved with a responding, "See you."

Five minutes later found him in the courtyard facing an impatient prince deftly wielding a bejewelled sword.

"Where have you been?" Zuko asked brusquely, lobbing Sokka his practice sword without looking at him.

Sokka had to dash to the left to catch it before it hit the ground. He frowned irritably. "I ran into Iroh. It's not my faul – _whoa, Zuko!_ " he yelped as he was forced to duck to avoid losing his ponytail. "Watch where you're swinging that thing!"

"Just checking you're paying attention."

After that, the practice continued as normal: Sokka was instructed in some basic steps – mostly defensive – which he would then put into practice against Zuko, with (painstakingly slowly) increasing levels of success.

After about an hour, Zuko let out a loud growl of exasperation. "No, Sokka, look – your stance is all wrong."

Sokka tried to turn around to tell Zuko just what he thought of _that_ accusation when a firm grip twisted his skull to face forward again.

"No," Zuko steadfastly insisted from somewhere behind him. "Your opponent is in front of you."

"Fine," Sokka grumbled, but his resistance was shocked to a standstill when he felt a hand on his wrist. Instinctively, he jerked away from it, eliciting a frustrated sigh from the prince the hand belonged to.

"You're so jumpy," Zuko muttered. "This arm has to be higher." He guided Sokka's left arm into the correct position and let go. It immediately dropped an inch. "I said higher! Do I have to do _everything_ for you?" He took hold of Sokka's wrist again, holding it firmly in place.

Sokka kept his mouth shut, however much he was burning with annoyance.

Zuko lightly tapped Sokka's tail. “Bend, be ready to move at any time.”

Sokka bent what should have been his knee joint and sunk into the stance.

"Relax your shoulders."

Unfortunately, Zuko's supposedly helpful actions were proving counterproductive, as Sokka found it very difficult to relax his shoulders under the rough pressure of Zuko's palm - he shivered in pain as one finger pressed right against the bruise he’d acquired from the training yesterday.

He tried to shrug the hand away from the sore spot, and it readjusted itself closer to the nape of his neck, ghosting across dark skin – and Sokka felt his skin heat, and he shivered for an entirely _different_ reason.

"What?" Zuko muttered as he roughly nudged Sokka's tail into proper position. "You can't be cold in this weather."

Sokka cleared his throat awkwardly, though Zuko seemed – thankfully – oblivious to his sudden tension. "Maybe it's the shirt," he mumbled, and realised after he said it that it didn’t make quite as much sense out loud as it had done in his slightly jumbled brain.

Zuko stared at him over his shoulder for a moment. Then he blinked, shaking his head in confusion and dismissal and returning to the matter at hand – or, more literally, _under_ his hand. "I said relax your shoulders. You can't fight if you're this tense." Zuko squeezed slightly at Sokka's shoulder to punctuate his point, and Sokka wished as he desperately fought a blush that Zuko would let go of his shoulder and wrist and stop touching his hip and _put a fucking shirt on._

Thankfully, a few seconds later, he moved away, though the shirt problem was left unresolved. "Okay," Zuko said with a nod as he observed. "Try that sequence again."

Somehow – inexplicably – Sokka lasted the rest of the training session without any more unexpected and awkward mishaps. The pair continued their somewhat aggressive spar for another hour, until Zuko finally deemed their practice over with a satisfied nod. Sokka stretched sore arms above his head until his joints cracked and he sighed in pleasure. Zuko shot him a vaguely disgusted look from across the court.

They parted ways - Zuko needed to go be unavailable somewhere secret, and Sokka returned to his wing to finish reading that book he was halfway through - he'd found it in the library, a book about 'land people' lore. It was fascinating to read about humans through the eyes of merpeople. Even if they'd actually gotten a lot of it wrong. Humans certainly did _not_  photosynthesise. As far as Sokka knew, anyway.

But that evening, it didn't matter how interesting the book was, or how the previous night Sokka had been so engulfed in the tome he hadn't gone to bed until three. No matter how many times Sokka readjusted his position on the couch and opened the book, he simply couldn't read it.

Sure, his eyes would move over the words, and his hands would even turn the pages, but none of it actually went _in_. He'd get lost in thought, and then find himself staring at a paragraph three pages ahead of the last thing he remembered reading, and have to start all over again. This went on for hours before Sokka decided to give up and drop the book onto the coffee table with frustration. It wound him up even tighter when the water cushioned the fall, and the book made hardly a whisper as it landed.

It was frustrating because no matter how hard he tried, he could not stop thinking about Zuko.

More specifically, he could not stop thinking about that afternoon, and the feel of Zuko's hands, and the way his skin still tingled even now.

It was bizarre, and uncalled for, and entirely unexpected. But Sokka considered himself a pretty rational, reasonable guy. He wasn't into the whole self-deception and denial thing.

And so when, the next day, Zuko shot him a covert smile across the meeting table, a smile for Sokka's eyes only, and his golden gaze burned molten, and it made Sokka's breath hitch and his neck flush with uncomfortable heat because all he wanted in that moment, more than anything, was for Zuko to never, ever stop looking at him like that, he realised he couldn't deny it anymore.

He was attracted to Zuko.


	5. The Step

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sokka has a dirty mind and i am unapologetic 
> 
> (this chapter might be a lil dull, idk, it's difficult to make things interesting when the setting is so static, but it gets a lot plottier from here on out, i promise.)
> 
> this probably won't interest anyone, or maybe it will who knows, but just some trivia this chapter has officially broken all personal records for longest chapter i've ever written in the history of the universe. I'm serious guys, double length chapter here. nearly 7k words in a single chapter. And it didn't even take me 7 months (lmao still sorry about that)  
> the 7 months thing won't happen again btw since all exams are finALLY OVER, and i can go back to living my life in peace and harmony and fic writing. so. look forward to that.
> 
> ok so i'm gonna shut up now and let you read

Sokka stared deliberately down into his teacup, feigning preoccupied fascination in an attempt to disappear into nonexistence. Not that he really needed to try much at the moment, since the only other occupants of the room were completely ignoring him anyway in favour of continuing their heated discussion. Sokka couldn't technically call it an argument yet, since Zuko was still seated and fairly rational, which meant that however acrimonious the discussion was becoming, it still hadn't (yet) crossed Sokka's mental boundary out of _conversation_ territory.

He supposed, in the back of his mind, that he should be kind of flattered that they felt comfortable enough to engage in familial disputes in his presence. God knows how many times he and Katara had kept their argumentative mouths shut in the company of guests.

Zuko interrupted his idle thoughts with an exasperated roll of his eyes from across the table at whatever new tactic Iroh had just tried to employ. He huffed out angry bubbles. "Uncle, how many times-"

"I know, I know," Iroh consoled in a sympathetic tone, almost as if he were agreeing, despite the fact that everyone in the room knew the opinion he held on the matter starkly opposed Zuko's protests.

Zuko's lip curled in annoyance. "Obviously you _don't_  know, otherwise you wouldn't keep suggesting it!"

Iroh sighed plaintively into his tea. "Zuko, I am not asking much of you-"

Zuko scoffed.

"-just that, perhaps," Iroh prodded tentatively, "you begin looking for a spouse."

Zuko had his mouth open to object, but Iroh promptly cut in before he could get a word out.

"When you were a child I made my decision not to arrange a marriage for you so that one day you would be able to choose for yourself. But time is marching on, nephew. If my bloodline is not secure, the people will worry for the future of this nation, and an unhappy people makes for an unhappy country."

Zuko fixed his uncle with a dry grimace. "You know I'm grateful about that. But it's not like I haven't got plenty of time left, uncle." He turned his gaze to his food, face twisting awkwardly, before muttering, "I'm sure I'll find someone eventually."

Iroh grinned fondly. "I only ask that you try." Zuko made a small, incoherent noise, maybe of protest (or maybe of agreement - pretty much everything Zuko said managed to sound angry and mildly affronted). Iroh seemed to think it was the latter, and took mercy on him and diverted the subject away from Zuko's marriage troubles.

He turned to Sokka. "So, Sokka," he began casually, and Sokka felt his stomach drop out. "A fine young man like yourself must be married."

Zuko's head snapped up.

Sokka cleared his throat, taking a long swig of water. "Um, no, actually," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact with the other occupants of the table.

"Really?" Genuine surprise shone in Iroh's voice. "But you must be of marrying age. Is your kingdom not so concerned with producing an heir?"

Sokka resisted the initial sting of the words, because they only served to remind him what a big fat liar he was, and he was _so_  not in the mood for a guilt trip right now. So instead he focused on the muted panic of having to spout out a stream of completely impromptu lies and make them sound legitimate.

"Uh, well," he said, buying time, "people generally get married a bit older in my kingdom. You know, just a couple of years, but I mean, I'm only just eligible for marriage so no one's too worried yet..." he mumbled, pushing half-eaten urchins around on his plate.

"Ah," Iroh said with understanding, nodding sagely, and Sokka breathed a silent sigh of relief. "I see. Different customs, I suppose." He tipped his head slightly in thought, before asking with a pleasant smile, "Are you seeing anyone?"

Sokka shook his head, wishing the floor would open up its massive jaws and eat him alive, because this was _absolutely not_  an okay conversation to be having with someone like Iroh, _in front of Zuko_.

"Hm," Iroh said thoughtfully, before a devious smirk crept onto his face. Zuko was beginning to look rather alarmed, and then Iroh barked out a laugh and looked pointedly at Zuko. "Too bad you can't just marry Sokka here and be done with it!" Iroh guffawed.

Sokka felt his entire face burn, and a surreptitious glance at Zuko revealed a similar colour flooding his pale cheeks.

The faint buzz of panic began to fade as the conversation moved haltingly forward and Sokka realised it had only been an innocent joke, and he wasn't actually busted. Thank _fuck_ , because if anyone - let _alone_  Iroh or (god forbid) Zuko himself - found out about this stupid goddamn crush he would die of humiliation on the spot.

He hadn't felt this silly since high school, which was way, _way_  over, and he didn't know why on earth he'd expected adult crushes to feel any less ludicrous than teenage ones, because they didn't. At all.

 

* * *

 

_You know_ , Sokka thought to himself as he was once again blasted across the training court into the opposite wall, _maybe I'm getting kinda good at this._

Zuko pursed his lips. "Sloppy," he called out, full teacher mode. He glided slowly over as Sokka dragged himself up and picked bits of gravel out of the kinks in his scales. 

"If I'm so sloppy today," Sokka challenged, overcome with an odd wave of self-assurance, "then how do you explain _that?_ "

Zuko's gaze followed Sokka's finger, pointing to an amorphous eggplant-purple bruise on his upper arm where Sokka had actually landed a firm hit with the flat of his blade.

Zuko's eyes lifted heavenwards with irritation. "Yes, congratulations Sokka, you actually managed one hit out of two hundred. Your skills are overwhelming."

"I'll have you know I don't appreciate your sarcasm."

"And I don't appreciate your overconfidence." Zuko handed him back his sword, and there was something in his voice betraying his cold exterior. Maybe Sokka was just imagining it - though embarrassing to admit, it wouldn't be the first time he'd invented an entire epic romance out of thin air - but when he took the sword and Zuko's fingers brushed against his for just a little longer than necessary, Sokka thought,  _maybe not_.

Zuko swam back to the opposite side of the court, sinking fluidly into position. "Again."

 

* * *

 

"Oh, Sokka!" 

He turned at the sound of Iroh's voice as he hurried rather haphazardly down the corridor. "Yeah?"

Iroh held out a wad of official-looking papers. "Could you find Zuko and give these to him? He was supposed to look over these notes before the next meeting, but for some reason he hasn't found the time, and I'm afraid if he doesn't receive these papers very soon then he will be rather at a loss in the meeting this afternoon." Iroh quirked his lips in fond annoyance. "It will be the first meeting he will lead by himself, without me there. Nothing too important for the future of the world, of course," Iroh joked mildly, "but it is rather a continuation of a previous meeting over crop exports which was never resolved." He gestured for Sokka to take the papers, and he belatedly did. The stack was surprisingly heavy. "I would give them to him myself, but I have a meeting scheduled to start in five minutes." Iroh shot past him then, down the corridor, with only a brief wave over his shoulder. "Thank you, I'm sure Zuko will appreciate it!"

Sokka was left just a bit dumbstruck. He hadn't even had the chance to say anything - to protest, to say he had no idea where Zuko was, what he might be doing right now, how to contact him, whether he would even be able to find him in time for Zuko to read over the notes. But here he was, in the middle of the corridor, holding the key out of a very embarrassing situation.

He had to find Zuko.

The logical first course of action was to check Zuko's wing. Unfortunately, Zuko's wing was _too fucking big_ , and Sokka managed to get lost a total of three separate times before he found Zuko's private quarters.

And when he finally, _finally_  got there and knocked impatiently, there was no answer.

He even walked straight in when he realised the door was unlocked, but still no Zuko. No Zuko in the lounge, no Zuko in the bedroom, no Zuko in the bathroom.

No Zuko.

He stopped a passing servant outside the quarters and asked, trying to sound as casual and not-desperate as possible, "Would you happen to know where Zuko went?"

She answered, "I believe he was on his way to the royal baths, sir."

Royal baths. "Royal baths," he echoed, voice slightly strained with dread, "as in, bathing?"

She fixed him with a sharply neutral expression. "That would be the point of the baths, sir."

Sokka could feel a spike of heat at the base of his neck, but stubbornly ignored it. Now was not the time. He had to deliver important work-related papers to Zuko, right now, location be damned - even if he was bathing. Which, nope, Sokka was _not_  thinking about. Not one bit. "Where - I mean, do you know where the royal baths are?" he asked, pretty sure he'd mumbled too much to be audible. He shifted his weight around with antsy embarrassment, like she could _hear_ all the inappropriate thoughts flashing through his head.

She pointed down the corridor, towards the main wing. "First floor, second door on your left when you get to the entrance lounge."

Sokka could visualise it. "Thanks," he said quickly and rushed towards the main wing. As he shot through doorways and down corridors and across lawns, he couldn't help but wonder why Zuko had chosen to bathe in the main wing, where there was comparatively little privacy, rather than in his own bathroom. It wasn't like it was small or grotty or anything. In fact, it was the roomiest, fanciest bathroom Sokka had ever seen, gold inlay everywhere, and the bathtub had been generous enough to fit at least two people. How much better could the communal royal baths really be?

Answer: _so much better_.

Sokka nearly dropped the papers when he opened the door. A massive, huge, _gigantic_  room, easily twice as big as the meeting hall, and smack bang in the center of it was a yawning chasm of a bathtub, built right into the floor, and made of _solid marble_.

There was a merman in this bath, but it wasn't Zuko. He turned when Sokka entered the room and fixed him with a stare Sokka decidedly _did not like_. 

"Why hello, Prince Sokka," the merman said, and Sokka recognised him now - it was the burly man who'd led the palanquin when he'd first arrived a month ago. Sokka hadn't liked him much back then - his pompous attitude made his skin prickle with irritation - but now he really, _really_  disliked him. And his stupid fucking sideburns. Didn't he know they went out of fashion, like, forty years ago?

Sokka watched as the merman let his gaze drift right over Sokka, eying him up like he was prey ready to be ripped apart, and cold chills streaked through him despite the humid warmth. He wanted to shrink into his skin and away from those beady vulture eyes. 

Sokka wanted to punch that smug smirk right off his face.

He swam past, not deigning him with a reply, and through the nearest archway.

The relief that swept through him when he was out of sight was doused as soon as he saw who was lounging in this particular bath. The room and the tub mirrored the previous, with one _crucial_  difference.

_Well_ , Sokka thought, _at least I found Zuko_.

"Uh," he said intelligibly, and fumbled with the papers in his hands.

It was enough to alert Zuko to his presence. Zuko turned, his back no longer facing Sokka, and leant his elbows up against the rim, his arms folding in front of him. "Sokka," he greeted, his tone indicating both surprise and confusion. Understandable, really, when someone walks in on your bath without warning.

Sokka had learned during his time in the palace that this was a place where people routinely bathed together in large groups, which was pretty cool, even though Sokka hadn't quite worked up the courage to use the communal baths yet. (Although, looking at their sheer luxury now, he might be persuaded to take a dip later.)

Still, knowing it in theory didn't make Sokka any more accustomed to walking in on people in the bath.

He shifted slightly, trying to keep as casual as possible, because come on it wasn't even as if he could see anything, so there was really no need to feel so uncomfortable. Really. Absolutely no need to clear his throat as he watched the droplets that refused to mix with the ocean rolling down Zuko's arms. _Definitely_ no need to take a deep breath at that blazing look in Zuko's eye.

He tried to remind himself of the absolute lack of bath-related discomfort he'd felt in the burly man's presence, but of course it didn't work, because that man wasn't  _Zuko_. The problem here wasn't the bath, or the bathing, or even just the shimmering water on Zuko's skin. The problem was that Sokka was ridiculously infatuated with a man who was allergic to shirts. The wet and damp thing just made the whole situation even worse.

Zuko tipped his head to the side, probably still waiting for Sokka to stop gawking and start getting to the point of this visit, and lazily out of the water flipped a shiny tail. It gleamed with a sheen of dazzling gold that Sokka hadn't seen on anyone else in the palace and was secretly quite in awe of. Not that he would actually tell Zuko that.

Sokka gazed at the tail swishing smoothly through the water, and he wondered if Zuko was even aware he was moving it. Maybe it was the mermaid equivalent of the knee jiggle or foot tap.

One of Zuko's eyebrows rose, and Sokka felt himself flush. "Are you okay?" Zuko asked, sounding somewhere between amused and apprehensive, blissfully ignorant to the thoughts running through Sokka's head. "You looked like you had something to say when you came in, but you've been standing there staring for a while now."

"Yeah, I, uh-" he stumbled, trying to look somewhere that wasn't Zuko and the steam-heat flush on the bridge of his nose but absolutely not managing it at all. "Papers," he said, shoving the notes forward and hoping Zuko would miraculously know what he was talking about, because Sokka sure as hell didn't. It was getting pretty annoying to deal with, actually, this whole thing he had going on, because he distinctly remembered something similar happening during training yesterday when Zuko had suddenly and abruptly torn off his shirt and thrown it across the court, and Sokka had actually _dropped_  his sword. Did Zuko have some sort of bet going with himself on how many times he could disrobe in a single day?

The other eyebrow rose to meet the first along Zuko's hairline, and they knitted together in bewilderment. A strand of hair had eased itself loose of his topknot, and Sokka stared at the way it curled in the heat. "What?" Zuko asked, totally perplexed, eyes flitting between the stack of notes in Sokka's hands and his face, which Sokka was sure was burning redder than that time he'd eaten an entire chili pepper in one go on a dare. His mouth felt even drier, too.

"The meeting," Sokka tried his best to clarify, focusing on getting the words out in the right order, though all sensible trains of thought had left the station five minutes ago and were now very far out of sight, bye bye, farewell, _I'm going to hell_. "The papers. For the meeting."

Zuko looked a bit less nonplussed now. "The one this afternoon?"

Sokka nodded jerkily.

Zuko reached a hand up to take the notes and Sokka nearly threw them right at him, because _no_ , no he _wasn't_  looking at the writhe of muscles under glistening skin.

He didn't throw them, and Zuko took them calmly, side-eyeing Sokka over the notes. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked cautiously, and there was something in his gaze that Sokka couldn't quite identify, but it made his heart hammer in his chest. "You're bright red."

Sokka puffed out a slightly hysterical and dry-throated laugh. "Yeah, wow, just, it's like a _sauna_  in here, phew," he said, shaking his head in mock disbelief and making a show of fanning himself with his hands.

Zuko didn't look for one second like he believed him, but he graciously let the subject drop and glanced down towards the papers, attention now (finally) diverted away from Sokka's bizarre behaviour.

Sokka stood by, awkwardly watching as Zuko rifled through the leaves of notes, gaze now focused and intense. "Thanks," he murmured distantly, mind already sucked into the pages.

Sokka took that as a dismissal and quickly turned, throwing a final glance over his shoulder in case Zuko said something else, and as soon as he was through the door he high-tailed it out of there as fast as he could swim.

 

* * *

 

"Left, duck, _jab_ ," Sokka muttered, thrusting his sword forward with one sharp motion. The practice dummy creaked in protest as it was impaled right through the heart, but Sokka didn't let himself preen too much. If the dummy had been Zuko, he would have swung up and slammed the flat of his blade against Sokka's right side hard enough to make him drop his sword, and it would have bruised for three days. _Too slow_ , Sokka could hear him scold, as his rib twinged with a phantom ache from Zuko's sword. _Stop leaving yourself wide open like that. If this were real combat you'd be dead_.

Sokka dropped out of position, bringing a hand up to ghost along his unblemished right side. Training alone was always kinda strange, because the court seemed so empty and silent without Zuko there to snap at him - and, very occasionally, blink in impressed surprise. Those moments were becoming a little more frequent, now, due to all the spare time Sokka was putting into training by himself.

If he was being perfectly, completely, painfully honest with himself here, he could maybe just a tiny little bit admit that all the effort he was putting into training had a bit less to do with the actual swords, and a bit more to do with the astoundingly amazing feeling of earning Zuko's admiration and respect.

"Sokka!"

Sokka nearly jumped out of his skin. _Speak of the devil_.

Zuko swooshed over the railings, stopping rather too close for Sokka's comfort, and he was now uncomfortably aware of his own shirtless state. Zuko seemed not to have noticed, thankfully (unfortunately?), his golden eyes locked onto Sokka's and his face split in an uncharacteristic grin that made Sokka's heart jump into his throat. "Sokka, thank you _so much_ ," he said with deep emphasis, hands reaching to squeeze Sokka's bare shoulders and _wow_  his head was spinning.

"Um, you're welcome," Sokka murmured, gravel in his throat. "But - what?"

"Those notes you gave me," Zuko clarified, hands still on his shoulders, thumbs resting against his collarbone, as if Zuko had forgotten he'd put them there. "If you hadn't - I had no idea there even _were_  any notes. I would've just gone straight in there and made a massive fool of myself in front of all the generals and probably never would have been able to leave my room again out of embarrassment." He looked pretty self-conscious now, his earlier gusto diffusing out of him.

Sokka blinked. "Oh, right. Well, you're welcome, I guess. Iroh actually sent me, but, y'know. I'll take some credit."

"Well, still. I owe you. I guess your kingdom is a lot better organised than this one, with a prince like you who's actually competent," Zuko joked, but it sank Sokka's stomach like lead. The guilt washed heavy through him as he was reminded yet again that he was incongruous with this place, that the comfortable little niche he'd made for himself here was built entirely on a lie.

_Yeah_ , Sokka thought ruefully, _a prince like me._  

Zuko still wasn't retreating, which was a little odd really, considering his constant need for personal space and general aversion to physical contact, and yeah Sokka was definitely overthinking this but how could he not, with Zuko mere inches away from him and _still_  not breaking eye contact, and his golden eyes were _burning_  - 

\- and Zuko was leaning forward, hands snaking around to Sokka's shoulder blades, and he was kissing him. 

Zuko was _kissing_  him.

_Zuko_  was kissing _him._

Sokka needed some oxygen at this point, he really did, because clearly this was all some bizarre hallucination, Zuko's lips so firmly pressed against his own, insistent and soft with just enough aggression to make Sokka's eyes roll back into his head. No way was this _actually_  happening. This was fantasy material right here, he knew that, not reality material. Zuko just didn't like him that way. He'd almost come to accept it.

The tentative swipe of a tongue against his bottom lip wrenched him back into reality, and god help him he opened his mouth. Somewhere along the line his hands had found Zuko's waist, he realised distantly, as his fingers trailed down his sides and his thumbs dipped under the silken hem at Zuko's hips and he finally found the sense to kiss back properly. He matched Zuko's every movement, every stroke, every twist of tongue, and when Zuko tugged at his hair for better access he complied, pressing forward with a fierce hunger. Urgent heat streaked through his veins, and when his hands skimmed Zuko's smooth abdomen he could feel his rapid pulse in his stomach, and he felt more than heard the rasping low whine in Zuko's throat when he licked along the roof of his mouth. Zuko's breath against his lips and tongue was ragged and quick, and the hot scent of _warm_  and _Zuko_  enveloping him was intoxicating.

They broke contact only for breath, loose-limbed and light-headed from the dizzying slide of tongue, and as Sokka dragged his teeth along Zuko's lip he _moaned_.

The sound cut through his haze of primal instinct, and Sokka was hit with a brutal awareness of where they were and what they were doing. 

He pulled back jarringly, and judging from the shock forming in Zuko's expression, he'd realised the same thing.

Zuko disentangled himself hurriedly, glancing anxiously around them to check they'd been alone, and Sokka was flooded with ice, skin tingling with cold where Zuko's heat had been pressed against him. Sokka folded his arms across his chest to try to keep the warmth in, but with every passing second, the chill only spread.

Zuko's mouth was open ( _still open, saliva on his lips_ ) as if he wanted to say something, and Sokka could see the words swimming in his eyes.

But whatever the words were, he swallowed them. "I'm sorry," he said instead, voice flat, eyes averted.

And there it was, finally, the chilling, overwhelming feeling of _what the fuck just happened_. He wasn't sure what to say, really, because what did you say in situations like this? The only people he'd kissed like that had been people he'd already been dating, people he'd already established a mutual attraction with. Not people he'd been mooning over for a week who'd given him a total of minus three signals, proceeded to kiss him out of his mind, and then _apologised for it_.

So Sokka said nothing instead, because that was so much better than saying something stupid like he always did. His throat burned with the urge to call out as Zuko turned, to tell him there was nothing to be sorry about, that it was the best damn kiss he'd ever had, but something must have glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth because instead he just stared and watched Zuko swim away.

 

* * *

 

The next few days were hell.

It was obvious that Zuko was trying his best to forget it ever happened, which would have been okay if he wasn't so incredibly shit at it.

Whenever their eyes met over the table, or they passed each other in the corridor, or Zuko turned up at the training ground while Sokka was practising solo, it was like the kiss replayed itself all over again. Sokka could almost see it play in his eyes like a film reel, and every time it happened Zuko froze, choked roughly if he was unfortunate enough to have been eating, and flushed an impossibly deep shade of _incredibly embarrassed_.

Sokka tried a few times to leave subtle hints, because Zuko clearly wasn't getting it with all of the extra brooding he'd been doing lately, that the whole thing was okay. That there was no need for brooding, or apologies, or seriously awkward avoidance tactics. But it didn't help, because Zuko was the most hard-headed, stubborn and infuriatingly _oblivious_  person Sokka had ever met in his whole life, and when he saw the dark shine of guilt in Zuko's eyes he wanted to break something, smash something fragile into a million sharp little pieces, because Zuko had absolutely no right to feel so guilty. It was _Sokka_ who was the guilty party here with the secrets and the lies and the completely accidental torch he had no right to be carrying for a fucking _mermaid prince_.

He figured it was over, then, their friendship. The friendship Sokka had sacrificed his legs to gain. That everything had been for nothing, and that he should probably go back to the boat, get his legs back and go on with his life and eventually the weighty clench in his chest would loosen and this whole thing would just fade out into some super weird dream.

But then, six days afterwards, something amazing happened.

One particular meeting was really dragging on, and Sokka actually caught one of the general's heads dipping in fatigue at one point. He and Zuko had been seated beside each other, everyone crammed together around the long table like sardines to make room for the entire entourage of their guest from the neighbouring kingdom.

They were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, and Sokka would be lying if he said Zuko's shoulder plates weren't digging uncomfortably into his flesh. Zuko's head was turned away, towards the guest at the end of the table, and Sokka honest to god had no idea how he was still concentrating at this point in the doze-fest. He himself was on the brink of sleep, actually, and could almost see the dark tendrils of dreams swimming in his vision before he was jerked harshly awake - 

\- by the feeling of Zuko's hand over his own.

At first, fighting the urge to hyperventilate and/or pass out from shock, Sokka tried to be logical about it. They were sitting very, very close together. The way everyone was kneeling, there really wasn't that much room between anyone, and some hands, if they happened to move in a similar direction at the same time, would surely bump into each other. That was the price to pay for having too many people seated around the same table, Sokka reasoned. Zuko wasn't looking at him, had no way to tell where Sokka or his hands were. He'd probably just moved his hand absentmindedly, and it had unfortunately landed right over Sokka's. That was obviously what had happened here. 

So Sokka kept his cool and remained _statue_ -still, almost afraid to breathe in case the world turned inside out and everyone's eyeballs imploded. Zuko's hand didn't move either, which meant that he wasn't particularly bothered about this outcome. Which annoyed Sokka slightly, truth be told, because if Sokka was going to continue to beat himself up like this he at least wanted the satisfaction of seeing some mild discomfort on Zuko's end, considering it was _him_  who'd gotten them into this mess in the first place with that goddamn kiss.

But then Zuko's hand shifted slightly, somehow managing to totally swamp Sokka's despite the fact that his hands were actually slightly smaller (not that Sokka had been keeping track) and his fingers curled between Sokka's own, and _holy shit_  Zuko was holding his hand.

Real, genuine hand-holding, interlaced fingers, the lot.

And, okay, Sokka wasn't usually the hand-holding type, because it was generally pretty awkward trying to hold someone's hand and eat a bag of chips with the other, but right now he wasn't trying to eat anything one-handed, and Zuko's hand was really, _really_  warm and not in a sweaty way, and actually felt super soft despite the callouses. And then Sokka realised something, and immediately wanted to slap himself for not realising it a week ago, because it was actually not really a realisation at all and more like a connection between two completely obvious things, both of which he'd known for ages.

Obvious Thing Number One: Zuko wasn't very talkative. He never had been. He'd loosened up in the time that Sokka had known him, but he was still on the quiet side, his speech limited to the bare necessities plus the occasional sarcastic jab. It had been pretty obvious from their first meeting that Zuko wasn't exactly the smoothest guy around, was in fact possibly _the_  most socially awkward person Sokka had ever met, and from his reluctance to talk about anything serious or personal Sokka had just kind of assumed Zuko was one of those meticulously private people, you know, never put anything on their desk at work, never change the desktop background from default, has three separate locks on their phone and a strip of masking tape over the webcam. Zuko didn't like talking about his _deep feelings_ , which was just as well really because he was pretty shit at it. This consequently led to a strong tendency to _do_  rather than _say_. When he was angry (as he frequently was, though thankfully not often at Sokka), he threw things, slammed doors, growled aggressively at anyone who tried _calm down and let's talk about this_  on him. Zuko was the physical incarnation of the phrase "actions speak louder than words".

Obvious Thing Number Two: Six days ago Zuko had kissed him, and about a minute ago had reached over to hold his hand.

As Sokka felt the heat of Zuko's palm seep into his skin and flood his insides with fluttering warmth, he made the connection. Zuko might not have spoken to him at all lately, but it wasn't because he'd been avoiding him, or trying to forget what had happened, or anything like that at all. He'd been wondering what to _do_  about it.

And here he was, holding Sokka's hand, doing something about it.

Sokka couldn't believe he'd been such an idiot.

He shifted his hand, untangled Zuko's fingers from between his own, and he saw the tendons in Zuko's neck tense. But before Zuko could get the wrong idea - because no way was Sokka going to let that happen now after he'd finally cleared up this landslide obstacle of a misunderstanding - he turned his hand over, palm-up, wiggled his fingers between Zuko's and crushed Zuko's hand in the firmest, most certain handhold he'd ever experienced.

He saw the corner of Zuko's mouth quirk up.

 

* * *

 

Iroh was staring at him.

Iroh was staring at him _very suspiciously_.

It made Sokka really incredibly nervous, actually, because Iroh's eyes were sharp and almost _narrowed_  as he covertly sized Sokka up over the rim of his teacup.

"I can't help but notice," he started neutrally, sliding a Pai Sho tile across the board, "that you and my nephew seem to be getting along very well as of late."

Sokka wasn't sure what to say without accidentally incriminating himself, so he just nodded. The board provided a useful excuse for avoiding eye contact as he distractedly considered his next move.

There was a significant pause before Iroh spoke again. "You must have realised by now, after staying here for so long, that Zuko does not make friends very easily. In fact, he finds it rather difficult even making acquaintances, since he has the unfortunate habit of becoming quite rude when confronted with an uncomfortable situation." Iroh smiled at Sokka, letting out a pleased sigh after taking a sip of tea. "Now don't get me wrong, Zuko does have friends, but never have I seen him take such an interest in someone before as he has done in you. He rarely talks about you, but only because whenever I bring you up in conversation he seems to get rather flustered."

_Oh shit._ Sokka swallowed. He'd been busted. He could see it in the way Iroh was raising his eyebrows meaningfully at him.

"Now, I understand that I am probably the last person with whom you want to discuss the - _special interests_  you share with my nephew," Iroh continued, and Sokka had to restrain himself from wincing in embarrassment. "And correct me if I'm getting the wrong idea, I do have a tendency to occasionally jump to conclusions," Iroh chuckled, "but I want you to know that I think you are a fine young man, Prince Sokka-"

Sokka cringed with guilt at the title.

"-and that any relations you and my nephew choose to share will have my support." Iroh winked at him as he placed a tile onto the board, and with a bright grin exclaimed, "Ah, I'm afraid you lose this game, Sokka."

Sokka kept his eyes fixed intently on the board, because he was afraid that if he met Iroh's mischievous gaze he would actually explode from humiliation, and he really didn't want to mess up the pretty lounge by coating it in blood and entrails. The servants would certainly throw a fit if they had to spend the next week wiping his organs off the furniture.

Still, despite the deception on Sokka's end, he was still touched by Iroh's sentiment, so he mumbled in a faintly strangled tone, "Thanks."

Iroh's deep chuckle rumbled through Sokka's shoulder when he reached forward to pat it.

 

* * *

 

Sokka turned over again, throwing the sheets away in frustration as he gave up his valiant attempts to sleep. This was getting pretty ridiculous now. He'd never been the insomniac type - he usually fell asleep pretty much the instant his head hit the pillow. Unless it was too hot and humid, like it sometimes was in the summer, when he could never sleep more than a half hour at a time, and it always left him in the foulest mood. (And that was why Katara didn't invite him round on hot days.) 

But right now, it wasn't too hot. In fact, with the sheets kicked down, he could actually feel the icy pinpricks of chill, and so he reached down and pulled the covers back up to his chin, burying his face further into the silk pillowcase.

Right now, it wasn't the heat keeping him awake. It was guilt. Stupid dumb guilt which, in hindsight, he really should have anticipated before setting off on this trippy adventure in the first place.

Because sometimes, when asked about his country's national delicacies or legal system over breakfast, Sokka wondered what Zuko saw when he looked at him. A grand foreign prince, drowning in luxury and spoils of another land, a royal ambassador to the court. All great, respectable, impressive things, which would surely be attractive to a fellow prince. Someone suitable for Prince Zuko to befriend. Someone suitable for Prince Zuko to love.

Someone Sokka wasn't.

And yeah, okay, maybe he was getting unreasonably down about the whole thing. Or at least, it really wasn't stay-awake-at-night worthy. Prince or no, Zuko didn't give off the snobby vibe, and he'd never said anything nasty about the lower classes. In Sokka's presence, anyway. And even back on the boat, which was uncomfortably cramped for two people, stank of fish and was never cleaned frequently enough, Zuko had never turned his nose up at the state of the place, or at the coffee and towel he'd been offered, or at Sokka. But that didn't stop Sokka worrying every night until he tossed and turned in his sleep, lurid nightmares of Zuko's distorted face jeering with disgust _Fisherman Sokka_  as he held Sokka's human form under the water until his lungs gave out.

Sokka had a vivid imagination.

Of course that wouldn't happen, obviously, for a lot of different reasons, but there was still an overwhelming likelihood of Zuko not speaking to him again.

Drowning would be easier to handle.

Sokka couldn't keep doing this; he couldn't keep looking Zuko in the eye and lying to him. It wasn't fair to Zuko. And he knew, if he continued on this way, that no matter what developed between the two of them, he'd never be able to shake the niggling feeling at the base of his skull that maybe Zuko didn't like _him_  - maybe Zuko liked _Prince Sokka of the Southern Subatlantic_ , not just plain old _Sokka_. Maybe Fisherman Sokka wouldn't be good enough, and he would never know if he could never be honest with Zuko.

But at the same time, the thought of telling Zuko the truth, that he was just a lowly fisherman and no prince at all - not even a mermaid - and watching Zuko's face fall and crumple with betrayal and _hurt_  - 

No. He couldn't do that. Nope, cross his heart, stick ten needles in his eyes, _no way_.

Sokka had to stop this, whatever they were doing, before things got too serious and he couldn't tear himself away.

He slid out of bed, resigned and determined. He couldn't tell Zuko the truth, he couldn't inflict that pain on him. But he couldn't keep lying to him, to everyone, either - he'd thought his morals were grey enough for this, but obviously they weren't. He unlocked the window and pushed it open, double-checking for guard patrols before slipping unnoticed out of his room, out of the palace, out of the city.

If he couldn't tell the truth and he couldn't keep lying, then he had to leave.

 

* * *

 

Zuko blinked groggily awake. Something had woken him up, but he wasn't - 

There. That sound. 

He sat up in bed, fully alert now, all lingering wisps of light sleep vanished, and pricked his ears.

He heard it again, this time louder, closer, and most definitely not a remnant of a dream, and the rush of adrenaline washed through him, accompanied by the distant gnawing of fear. It was the distinct creaking of a door. The palace was rather old, and its doors, when not properly oiled, tended to make a lot of noise. Ordinarily, the sound wouldn't bother him - servants were everywhere, after all, and opened and closed a lot of doors as they moved around his wing. 

Another metallic squeal of protest - very near, now - had Zuko reaching under his pillow and drawing out the knife. He clutched it in clammy palms and tried to keep his breathing deep and slow. Breathe in. Breathe out. Freaking out now would not help one bit. He had to stay calm.

_It's probably a servant, messenger, palace guard,_ he tried to tell himself, tried to remain rational and just _think_  for a moment. Servants, guards, they were everywhere, yes - but only during the daytime. There were no servants' quarters in his wing. They were all located in the main building. Guards on the grounds encircling the wing, but no guards posted within the wing itself. No one else but him should be in his wing at this hour. 

He heard the door to his suite open with a quiet hush, just one room away, and his breaths grew quick and shallow with panic because _that door was locked_.

His hands shook as he got out of bed and headed for the window, and god fucking _damn_  it he just _had_  to have three separate locks installed, and had he not been near hyperventilation with panic at this stage he would've laughed at the irony because they were supposed to keep intruders _out_  not lock them  _in_  and why the fuck had he thought that was a good idea he should have anticipated this, and the bolt was undone but his hand was slipping, fumbling, he couldn't get the latch - 

He couldn't breathe, his nose and mouth smothered in cloth that smelled horrifyingly pungent and chemical, _I didn't hear anyone come in_ , and he tried to struggle, kicked back, held his breath, but whoever had him was far stronger and the knife clattered to the ground and his vision was fading, darkening, sparkles at the edges, _help -_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls don't kill me


End file.
